


One Shot, Tops

by OctoberSnow



Category: Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: 47 gives some mad oral and that's the tea, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Boners, Diana's not very happy in this, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, F/M, First Meetings, First Time, Game Night, Hitman prompts, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Rating May Change, Smith just needs a little love, Strip Poker, Strip Tease, Torture, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, What Have I Done, Yandere 47, Yandere Diana, and a little bit of oxycodone once 47's done with him, and i'm sorry about that, guys i'm bored send me prompts, kid 47, kid Lucas, shots shots shots all around
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2019-11-16 02:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18086045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSnow/pseuds/OctoberSnow
Summary: A series of Hitman one shots and drabbles/prompts, not safe for consumption. Let's start with 47/Smith and let it go downhill from there.





	1. 47/Smith

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I haven't been writing a lot lately, and it's making me sad. If you could send me ideas/pairings you want to see, I'll be more than happy to see what I can write. Any and all Hitman characters are fair game, and crossovers are always on the table. Here's a sample of what I can offer.

Smith has been through some pretty bad shit in his life.

He's been kidnapped, drugged, beaten, tied up, interrogated, stripped of his clothes and left in a morgue chamber to slowly freeze to death in his sleep. He's been taunted with whispers behind his back from other CIA agents, gossip about how all of his missions seem to end with him imprisoned or on the run, waiting for someone with the competence to save his sorry ass.

And how that someone comes in the form of a man sent by a private agency that rubs shoulders with his own, people whose trade thrives on the cooperation of biased parties.

The first time 47 has to save him is when he's held down in the tunnels overseen by Lee Hong's men; by then the smell of mildew felt permanently clogged in his lungs, his wrists rubbed bleeding-raw from the stocks they were in.

He's fed just enough to stay alive, and kept awake long enough to feel the bruising agony of the Hong workers' boots in his ribs and their lashes on his back, their sneers echoing in his ears and spicing the pain and humiliation of his capture.

So when an unfamiliar face steps through the door of his cell, he knows exactly who the man is and what he is there for; and to say he is relieved is an understatement.

47 looks him over with eyes like blue-colored glass, unfeeling and uncaring of Smith's predicament. At that point in time, Smith doesn't care. All he knows is that he is going to get out of those rat-infested tunnels and back to the outside, with the sun to warm his back.

“Just the man I was looking for.”

His voice is deep, calm and full of composure. The type of voice Smith expects to come from a man with silent footsteps and a quietly lethal posture. He is handsome in a cold, detached way, as if he never smiled before.

Smith's voice comes out ragged and low, pulling against his shackles and feeling their bite on his wounds. “Geez, am I glad to see you. I'm halfway dead here!” He isn't exactly joking – the numbness of his limbs make him feel like he'd lost them long ago, and all that is left is flayed skin.

47 gets the info he needs and takes to hitting the stocks with some stray wood, his blows quick and precise, like he never wastes a single movement on anything. As soon as he pushes the stocks off of Smith's wrists, the CIA agent falls over, his arms weak and burning.

He feels a touch on his shoulder, another pulling him up by his arm, the warmth and steadiness of the agent's hands pulling Smith back to the sudden realization that he'd been freed. He takes a moment to steady himself, but when he looks up to thank 47, his words die on his lips as 47 is no longer in the cell. He'd left as quietly as he'd come in, leaving Smith with wide eyes and shaky legs.

Smith looks down and suddenly becomes very self-conscious of his patriotic boxers.

The second time he is saved by 47, he isn't able to tell his own name. He's been drugged to the point where he can't hold his body up straight and his words come in slurs. 47 has to hold his head steady to inject the antidote, and Smith flinches at the sharp nick in his neck before the cloud in his mind begins to clear.

He remembers where he is now; an institution in Romania that played a part in 47's sordid past. 47 is keen on finding answers, and Smith is happy to provide them. 47 is even more reticent than the last time, trailing behind Smith as he is lead to the institution's basement.

After Smith tells 47 how to get to the basement, the CIA agent feels a wry smile on his lips. He has a strange feeling that this isn't going to be the last time meeting 47 in these sorts of circumstances.

“I owe you one,” he says to 47, who remains silent. His eyes look through Smith as the institution's stale air chills Smith's exposed back and makes him aware that, for the second time, 47 has to see his boxers.

He feels 47's eyes drawn to them like a loud red magnet as he turns to get on the elevator, and his face begins to burn. Only when the elevator begin to move does he let himself turn to face forward. He didn't know what expression 47 would have had, and he didn't want to see it.

The third time he is saved by 47 is in a military basement in Russia. This time he's tied to a chair, and his interrogator takes pleasure in backhanding Smith each time he gives an answer that isn't satisfactory. They'd stripped him of his clothes again – they seem to think that stripping a man of his clothes strips him of his pride, but joke's on them because Smith never had any pride to begin with.

Once, the interrogator hits Smith hard enough to make him spit blood. If he squints hard enough, the three men wavering in his vision will coalesce back into one, and then the questioning will begin anew.

It stops briefly when the guard hears a noise from outside the basement, leaving Smith to close his eyes and try to ignore the fractured pain behind them. A muffled choking noise echoes behind Smith, startling him out of his daze as 47 steps into the corner of his vision.

47 quietly observes Smith for a moment before setting to work on the ropes, and Smith's babbling with relief before he can stop himself.

“47? Is that really you? I can't believe it's really you!” He feels that 47's ridiculous amount of self-restraint keeps him from rolling his eyes at Smith. _If course it's me, who else would bother to save you?_

“Likewise,” 47 replies smoothly, “Thought I'd seen the last of you back in Romania. You were pretty messed up back then.” If that is simply an observation or a light joke, Smith can't tell. 47 seems like the last person to make jabs, however justified they are.

He cuts the last bit of rope binding Smith's ankle, and as the CIA agent stands up he gives 47 a broad smile. “Let me know if I can help you with anything – you name it!” He's about to jokingly dole out the services he can provide, such as back rubs or a good hug, but stops when 47 flicks his eyes over Smith's body with his lip curling, his arms crossed.

“Start by putting your pants on,” 47 says dryly before averting his eyes from the CIA agent, focusing on a wall stain. Smith feels the blood rush to sting his face as he pulls his clothes off of the nearby table. That feels another insult in itself, he thinks – taking a man's clothes off and then putting them in eyesight, as if saying, 'See? This is the protection you flaunted, and look how easily it can be taken from you.'

After he becomes proper again, they make their way through the tunnels, avoiding the suspicious eyes of the soldiers. Smith doesn't consider himself gay, but he thinks 47 makes a dashing figure in his lifted officer uniform. Of course, he doesn't say anything to 47 during their escape, figuring that he's already straining 47's nerves as it is.

Once 47 pulls the door to the sewers shut with a rusty screech, Smith holds up his hand in an offer for a handshake, beaming at the other agent. 47 makes a point of looking down at his hand, then at him, a glint in his eyes before he blatantly dismisses Smith's gesture with a turn of his back and a purposeful stride away.

Smith scoffs a bit, trying and failing to not let the sting of 47's rebuttal show on his face.

The fourth time 47 is sent in to save Smith, whatever civilities 47 has shown in their last encounters is long dead. This time it's at a rehab in California, the coolness of spring in the air.

Smith has been captured (again), drugged (again), and locked in a small room (again). At least he has the dignity of pants to keep 47 from having to see the patriotic red of his boxers.

“You? I should have known.” The distaste in 47's voice is obvious as Smith tries to shake the fog from his drug-riddled brain, head hanging low from where he sits on the cot. When Smith answers, his voice comes out slow and humorless.

“Figures they'd send you to clean up my mess.” With no small effort, he forces his arm over to grab and lift of the picture of 47's target, turning it to the other agent. “This is the guy. Here.” 47 doesn't take it just yet, however. Smith can feel the burn of 47's eyes rake over his figure, and he seems... sympathetic? Understanding? Pitying may be the word Smith's looking for.

“I'm getting you out of here.” 47's voice comes out clear and resolute, although a tinge of exasperation runs faint behind his words. Smith keeps his eyes on the floor, afraid that if he looks up too fast he'll vomit.

“They'll never let me out alive...”

“I know.” 47 replies, already tapping the bubbles out of the syringe he's holding. Smith feels a calloused hand hold the side of his head to keep him steady, a thumb brushing over his temple that makes Smith's heart jump a little.

This hand has brought the deaths of so many people. But all Smith can think about was how warm it is, brushing through his receding hair. The small bit of reassurance is quickly squashed when the needle jabs into his neck, pain shooting fire-hot down his spine as a loud grunt leaves him. And then the world tilts under his feet as his pulse slows, 47's hands grabbing him by the shoulders and slowly lowering him back onto the mattress.

The last thing his ears catch is 47's voice before everything blacks out. It's clipped and professional as ever.

“Identity obtained. Executing rest of assignment.”

Strangely enough, Smith dreams in the small time he is considered dead. His life comes in brief flickers, his play fights with his siblings, his first time in church, his first marriage ending in a divorce with no tears shed on either side.

And then 47's coldly handsome face staring down at him, blue eyes glancing over, checking for signs of consciousness. Calloused warmth stroking his shoulder as Smith regains himself in bits and pieces, his pulse thrumming back to life.

By the time Smith sits up and takes in his surroundings, 47 is already gone, the door clicking shut behind him in the morgue.

The fifth time Smith encounters 47 is when things get interesting.

He manages to sneak into the car 47 has waiting for him outside of the Shark Club in Vegas, waiting in the backseat with his heart thumping in his ears. He's nervous, and had a right to be; 47 is unforgiving and quick in his actions, and can kill Smith before even recognizing who he was.

But he also feels a giddy sensation underneath his taught nerves at the thought of being able to see 47 again. It's a weird yet intoxicating feeling, and the memory of 47's hand on his chest, his cold blue eyes looking down at Smith flashes through his mind.

Smith hastily chastises himself, trying to ignore the growing horror that he may have developed a – a fucking _crush_ on the agent. It's the only way to describe the nerves erupting like butterflies in his stomach when he hears the driver's door open and 47 slip in silently, the slight pressure of the car tipping under his weight.

He's nervous. And for more than one reason.

Smith waits for the car to rev to life, its engine humming under Smith as 47 pulls out of the lot and begins to drive. He counts the seconds through his heartbeats, eases the nerves buzzing under his skin before he decides to do the one thing that would make 47 recognize him the quickest: be obnoxious.

He pokes his head up behind the agent with a cheery, “Hey, 47!”

That's all he gets out before an elbow makes swift connection with his jaw, the force of it just below bone-shattering. Smith lets out a noise of pain that sounds more indignant than anything as the car begins to swerve, 47 briefly forgetting safety in his haste to grapple Smith from the backseat.

“Ow! Hey! It's me!” Smith frantically tries to quell the panther tearing at him as the car squeals to a halt on the road's shoulder. He doesn't know why he thought it was a good idea to take 47 by surprise as the agent never took kindly to surprises – usually it ended with someone dead.

47 grabs Smith just under his arms, pushing their chests together as he starts to yank Smith out of the backseat, forcing the door open. The car bobs under their struggle as Smith's pulse flares at the agent's chest pushed against his thumping heart, 47 slamming a foot on the ground as he drags a pleading Smith out of the car.

The wind is brutally knocked out of Smith as he hits the gravel, a moment of dull pain passing before 47's legs straddle his waist as the older agent pushes Smith onto the ground with his full weight, a gun barrel jabbed against Smith's temple.

This is the most contact he'd ever had with 47, and ashamed as he is to say, Smith feels a spike of arousal at the solid heat pushing his lower back down with unyielding strength.

“What are _you_ doing here?” 47 asks, his voice laced with heat and annoyance. Smith feels the bite of the gravel against his body, scraping his palms. He replies, a light stutter in his voice, “Just...relax. Please.” Smith wishes his body could relax, but it does the opposite as 47 shifts slightly above him, grinding into his lower back. He feels completely helpless, pinned under the unforgiving strength of 47's lean muscle and cold blue eyes.

Smith quickly finds out that getting a boner while lying face down isn't the most comfortable experience.

“You're my only hope, there's no one else...” Smith's voice comes out breathier than he liked, and he prays 47 won't suspect anything beyond fear.

“Your only hope for what?” 47 demands, the cold barrel of his gun pushing harder against Smith's temple. Smith tries to go as still as possible, as every little movement shoots the friction straight to his groin. He starts to tell 47 about the planned assassination against the president, the cloning program, everything he can think to say to distract himself from the heat growing in his lower stomach.

When 47 replies, his voice is clipped. “They can have it. I don't play politics. Now-” Smith feels 47's hand grab his shoulder and squeeze it hard, the gun jabbing against his head, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put a bullet in your head.”

Smith feels his blood freeze at that statement, thinking to himself, 'There's no way 47 would kill me, right? He's just pulling my leg, I've always helped him when he had to save me.' But the weight pushing him against the ground and the cold steel pressed against his perspiring skin tells him that is a very unlikely thought.

He can't explain why or how, but he's harder than he'd been in a long damn time.

 _I'm just scared,_ he thinks frantically to himself, _it's natural to get hard when you're scared, right??_

“I got millions,” Smith gasps out, “Got the diamonds back there, red suitcases. Worth millions. All yours.” He thanks god it's dark outside, so 47 can't see his face growing red with humiliation and arousal. A car passes by them but doesn't stop, likely because 47 stared down the driver, daring them to intervene.

“What's the job?” The barrel pushed against Smith's temple eases its pressure slightly, giving Smith a little more head space for thinking. He tells 47 when the hit is supposed to happen, that he should protect the president and take out the other assassins. Clean and simple.

He gives 47 a wad of cash from his pocket, promising him more once the hit was done. But 47 would have none of that. “I'll contact you with instructions on how to get me the rest of the money up front,” 47 states calmly, his gun finally leaving Smith's temple, “and how to get me the mission details.”

Although he doesn't seem inclined to kill Smith anymore, he keeps the CIA pushed firmly to the ground under his weight, making Smith swallow hard. He moves a little, testing his boundaries, which is a mistake. His ass pushes right up into 47's crotch, and his lower half is promptly slammed back onto the ground, making him wince as his hard-on feels the impact.

“Stay still,” 47 growls, his voice low and deadly. “Sorry,” Smith mutters before he can stop himself, and bites his lip as his face burns. “But then, how could I be sure-”

47 cuts him off. “If you're on the level, I'll do the job. If you're not, you won't be needing the money.” His voice splits the air with the threat of dire consequences if Smith doesn't actually have the payment he promises.

Smith feels his blood thumping in his ears and in his dick, making him light-headed. God, he's too turned on to think straight. 47's so strong, he could pin Smith beneath him and do whatever he wanted. A crazy thought pops in his head about how 47 could take his payment in another form.

And the worst part is that Smith would've been more than willing to give himself into the quiet force of nature above him.

A low moan slips past Smith's lips at the thought, and then his eyes go huge as he feels his heart stop. 47 hears the noise and freezes, and then not a second passes before Smith feels the hand on his shoulder yank him over onto his back. Panic runs like ice in Smith's veins.

“No no no wait-” But he is already on his back, the tent in his pants pushing against 47's leg. Shame and fear rise sour like bile in his throat, shooting through his nerves hot and cold at the same time.

47 is going to kill him. He is going to kill him.

Smith is going to die with a boner.

Using his arm to cover his burning face, Smith lets out a quiet sob before gritting his teeth. He doesn't dare look at 47, preferring to think about whether or not an afterlife existed. A second passes, and then another. 47 doesn't move, and neither does Smith. It's like time inverted itself and ceased to exist.

Then Smith feels a hand grab his wrist, yanking it from his face. Through the dark 47's glowing eyes burn into his, and he can't breathe. 47 isn't exactly making his death quick.

47's voice rumbles in the cold night air.

“You're even more pathetic than I thought.”

Well, Smith isn't going to argue with that. He's never really experimented with his ex-wife, so realizing his weird kink while being pinned under a humorless killer makes for an interesting day indeed.

Smith forces out a short laugh, makes himself look at the man above him. “Well, if you're going to kill me, just go ahead and do it.”

But 47 simply stares down at him, doesn't say anything else. Like he's contemplating.

Suddenly, there are fingers pushing past Smith's lips, sliding over his tongue. A confused, garbled noise leaves Smith at the sudden intrusion, tasting the slight tinge of salt on the calloused digits. 47 remains perfectly still above him, blue eyes glinting as his fingers push their way into Smith's mouth, making Smith choke slightly on them.

Smith feels his lips tighten over the fingers as if on instinct, his breath growing harsh as 47 slowly begins to thrust his fingers in and out of Smith's mouth. To his shame, Smith starts throbbing in his pants, his eyes growing lidded as he moans around 47's fingers and laves his tongue over them.

 _Pathetic,_ he thinks to himself, _pathetic, pathetic, pathetic._

The wet, visceral noises that he's making fill the silence around them as Smith starts to squirm under 47, too aroused to think straight. Then the fingers are suddenly yanked from Smith's mouth, a thin rope of saliva trailing from his lips as Smith's heavy breathing breaks the air in hot pants.

47 holds his fingers up, scissors them as the glint of Smith's saliva webs between them. He observes them fora moment before he brings them down to trail over Smith's throat, pushing into the dip of his collarbone. The lump in Smith's throat bobs nervously at the pressure.

When 47 brings his hand back, his voice is acerbic. “No. You're not worth the bullet.”

He stands up, towering over Smith and looking down at him with a viciously blank stare. Then he turns to step back into the truck, slamming it shut as Smith sits up, his head dizzy and his legs weak. The truck's engine roars to life as it peels off the shoulder and speeds into the dark, leaving Smith lying on the ground with a single question flashing neon in his head.

_What the fuck just happened?_

So far, the number of times he's been saved by 47 can still be counted on one hand.


	2. 47/Diana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 47 comes to visit Diana after she receives some not-very-good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooh, typed this sucker out quick. Been meaning to write a 47/Diana fic, but didn't know how to go about it. This chapter is super angsty, and full of drama. Sorry if anyone's out of character. Also MAJOR SPOILERS for Hitman 2.

Diana slams the bottle onto the table a bit more harshly than she’d intended, joining the four empty bottles glinting under the dim kitchen lights. It’s a cheap brand, but effective as hell in getting you wasted. And that’s all she needs right now.

_When the Constant told her who killed her parents, it was like the earth was splitting under her feet to swallow her whole. Intertwined bolts of hot and cold shot down her spine, and for a few seconds she couldn’t breathe._

“ _I don't believe you,” she remembers saying. The corner of the Constant's mouth curls up slightly. “I didn't expect you to.” He starts to list off, in excruciating detail, 47's mission brief and the type of car bomb he used. The time and date it happened, things he should've never known but somehow had intimate knowledge of._

“ _If it's any consolation,” He starts, after reveling in the look on Diana's face, “He didn't seem very enthusiastic about a job well done when he came back. But then, he's not really the type to show his emotions, is he?”_

_47… you…_

She remembers the explosion that rocked her off her feet and blinded her, remembers seeing her parents’ charred corpses hit the ground with a dull thud, their faces burned beyond recognition. She loved her parents. She _loved_ them. And the person who tore them out of her life was the only person she’d put trust in for the good sum of twenty years.

She wipes the beer foam from her mouth with the back of her hand, not caring about how uncouth it looked. She doesn’t care about anything right now.

Diana lets her feet carry her away from the kitchen and into the living room, and it’s like things are moving in slow motion. She doesn’t want to climb the stairs to the bedroom, especially when there’s a couch right there that she can just pass out on.

At least, she would pass out on the couch, if there wasn’t someone standing in front of it.

“Oh...” Diana pauses in her hasty quest for the couch, her eyes taking in the form of 47 standing calmly in a white button-up and black slacks. Normally the sight of him made her feel warm, and serene. But now it makes nausea roll in her stomach, and her hands tighten into white-knuckled fists.

“It’s you.”

She’d never thought her voice could hold so much venom, but now her tone is a blaze of hurt and fury and hatred winnowed into a quiet, deadly whisper. 47 stays silent for a moment, and then finally speaks again.

“He told you.”

Diana pauses for a moment, her eye twitching slightly. He said it so calm, so casual, like he didn’t just rip her heart out from her throat.

“Yes,” She replies in a voice just as placid, “He told me everything.” She sways on her feet a little, feeling the alcohol blur her eyes and curl around her insides like liquid warmth. 47’s still annoyingly calm, annoyingly composed, annoyingly _everything_. She wants to slap it right out of him.

47 bites his lip slightly, turning his eyes to focus on something behind her.

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”

That’s it? That’s all he has to fucking say?

“I can’t believe you,” She snarls, “After all those years we worked together, and you did it knowing that you killed my parents. I’m sure you didn’t feel a bloody thing, either.” 47 takes a step towards her, and she steps back.

“Diana-”

“Get _away_ from me,” she hisses, shoving 47 as hard as her reflexes would allow. 47’s able to keep his stance however, and the one who stumbles backwards is Diana. She feels a hand grabbing her arm, uprighting her before she’s able to make acquaintance with the floor, and it feels so warm and steady that it only lights another spark of anger.

She smacks his hand away, but there’s less strength in it. “Bastard,” she growls, turning to narrow her eyes at 47, who has a blurry outline around his figure. It’s getting harder to maintain focus, and not to cry. “I can’t believe you - that you had the _gall_ to confront me after what you did. I can’t believe it was I who let you join the ICA in the first place. If I’d known it was you, I-”

Diana’s finding it harder to string cohesive sentences. Of _course_ 47 would come talk to her when she’s 5 drinks in, without being able to rely on her normally whip-like mind to tell him to properly fuck off. To tell him to go die.

Anger doesn’t even begin to describe the heat boiling in her gut; she feels like she’s about to fucking  _detonate_.

“I should’ve let the Franchise kill you a long time ago.”

A small part withering inside of Diana tells her that maybe, she shouldn’t have said that to her closest friend. But another, bigger part of her doesn’t care. She wants 47 to feel the hurt that he’s inflicted on her, make him feel _something_ for once in his cold, lonely life.

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you love, because you don’t love anyone. And no one’s _ever_ loved you.” That’s a lie. She does love 47. _Did_ love him.

She wishes she’d been more sober, if only to remember the look that flashed over 47’s face. It’s a look of indescribable shock and pain, that quickly steels back to his usual cold, calm facade. Diana wants to see that face again, and so she ventures forward, in a slightly slurred yet venom-filled voice.

“You’re not even capable of feeling those sorts of emotions, are you? Too complex and too human.” The words burn like acid on her tongue, but the look in 47’s eyes continues to fuel her tirade. She stumble- marches up to 47, the click of her heels echoing in the room, and jabs a finger in his chest.

“I don’t know why you bothered coming here, because you’re the last person I ever want to see, ever again. 47-” and the words are tumbling from her mouth before whatever sober part of her can stop them-

“I hate you.”

And there’s that face again. But this time it’s less shocked, and more defeated. The pain is there, clouding his clear blue eyes like a storm. And it’s beautiful to watch.

Diana turns with a decisive click of her heel, trying to walk to the couch without tripping onto it. She shoots behind her, “Congratulations. You’ve probably lost the only person who ever gave a damn about you.” Her words are more slurred than she wants them to be, but she feels they still get the point across.

She kicks off her shoes, partly hoping they’d fly back far enough to hit 47, and then flops onto the couch. The world’s tilting under her, and her head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. God, she doesn’t know why anyone would enjoy being drunk. Personally, she hates the lack of control she has over herself.

47 should be gone by now. She hopes he is. She hopes it’s the last she ever sees him. Hopefully he’ll just go die somewhere.

But a moment later, she feels a hand on her arm, gently grabbing it to pull her up from the couch. Her teeth grit so hard she’s surprised they don’t break, as she starts to sluggishly struggle in 47’s grip. “Don’t you _touch_ me,” She snarls, “Leave me alone. Haven’t you hurt me enough?”

47’s voice is measured as he holds her steady, pulling her onto her feet. “At least let me help you to your bed.”

“NO!” Diana yells, her struggles becoming more determined, forcing sobriety into her system, “I won’t let you handle me as you please. You’ve kicked the foundations of my life from under my feet so just-” And she turns, whipping the palm of her hand against 47’s cheek, “ _Leave me alone!_ ” The sound of the slap is like gunfire in the dark, echoing in the house.

Shocked at the realization of what she’s done, Diana stills her hand, stinging from how hard she hit 47. 47’s frozen as well, his grip loosening on Diana as the pale skin of his cheek turns red. He blinks, once twice, and then Diana feels her eyes grow blurry again, this time hot with tears.

The tears roll silently down her cheeks before she starts to sob quietly. Her chest is so tight it hurts, and 47’s face isn’t helping. She pushes forward and buries her face into 47’s chest, seeking his warmth. She hates him so much, but she doesn’t want to be alone right now.

“I hate you,” She mutters again in a tired rasp, and 47 merely wraps his arms around her trembling frame, holding her close. She looks up to stare into cold blue eyes, and she knows her own face must look a mess, her lipstick smeared and her mascara dotting her cheeks.

Her eyes sweep over his face, her breath coming in short bursts. She always though 47 was so handsome. Her eyes glance down at his lips, and she pushes up to kiss them without thinking. She starts kissing down his jaw, pressing her lips into the side of his neck and against his quickening pulse.

Surprisingly, 47 doesn’t object at first. He lets her kiss all over his face, down his neck, and only stops her when she starts to clumsily unbutton his shirt, soiled from her tears. “Diana,” He starts again, “You’re drunk.”

“So what,” She shoots back, “You’re lucky I’m not sober. I would've never let you lay your hands on me.”

47 winces slightly at that, but then he starts to pick Diana up, which makes her panic slightly. “Put me down,” she snaps, “I can make it to my bed just fine.” She’s too tired to fight at this point. The lust intermingling with the anger is a toxic combination she hopes to never feel again.

She feels like she’s floating, and the only thing grounding her is the warmth of 47’s chest against her shoulder and the strength of his arms carrying her to her room. He lays her down carefully on the plush duvet of her bed, as if she were delicate and could break at any moment. Too late.

She turns away from him as soon as she can, already trying to forget the heat of 47’s lips against hers. She just wants to sleep it off and forget about it all. 47 seems to understand this, as she feels him stand behind her, swaying on his feet a bit.

Diana knows he's trying to figure out what to say, but nothing he can say will ever fill the hole in her heart. “Sorry,” doesn't even come close to making up for what he's done.

So, after a moment of pondering, he leaves.

And Diana's back to having no one in her life.

 

 

 

 


	3. 47/Diana (Strip Poker)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 47 and Diana play a game of strip-poker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested, a nice little one-shot with 47 and Diana. Had a lot of fun writing this, haven't played a lot of poker myself but I liked the challenge of writing something new :D

Daring a glance over the small table, Diana observes 47 momentarily before bringing her attention back to her cards, biting her lip slightly; two sevens, with one on the table followed by a pair. Not a bad hand, not in the slightest.

Olivia had been the one to suggest a game of strip poker, after they’d had a few glasses of wine to loosen their nerves (and tongues, and inhibitions); Diana, against her better judgment, agreed to it, once she saw Lucas was able to strong-arm 47 into a few rounds.

A stray deck of cards was found, the stakes were set, and the game was set in motion before Diana could fully realize the consequences of stripping in front of a colleague. She knows, now that she and 47 are the only two left, that this was a terrible thing to agree to.

It doesn’t help that her opponent has the poker face down to an art. Sans blazer and tie, 47 had been on a winning streak the entire night. Both Lucas and Olivia had declared themselves out of the game, Lucas once he was down to his boxers, and Olivia once she had to seek Lucas’ help in undoing the clasp of her bra.

Olivia’s laughter turned to red-faced giggles as she had to lay an arm across her breasts to give herself some form of modesty; Lucas chuckled at her shyness, although there was a light dusting of pink across his face once he had to tug his pants off.

Diana was (un)fortunate enough to only lose her jacket, shoes and necklace; she _could_ be bold enough to take off her dress in the next loss, although now that Lucas and Olivia had left the table and retired for the night, the only one left to witness her little strip-tease would be the one man she grew shy of seducing.

She looks up again, really looking at 47 this time. Even with all the years she’s known him, reading into his expressions still feels like groping around in the dark. 47 can’t help that he’s about as expressive as a marble statue, and about as talkative.

Diana knows that if she decides to fold now, 47 would let her. This game holds no interest for him, it seems, and wouldn’t mind ending it sooner rather than later. But the cards in the middle promise Diana a full house; and if she decides to “increase the bet” per se, 47 _may_ just have to take off his shirt before having to remove his shoes and belt.

So Diana decides to raise the stakes.

“This round,” she says to 47 with her head tilted, “My dress or your shirt.”

47’s brow arches just a whisper. Diana feels a nagging sensation at the back of her mind, asking her what in the blithering fuck makes her think this is still a sensible idea. She may as well play Russian roulette with 47, the consequences would be about the same.

She keeps her eyes trained on 47 for what feels like a solid minute. They could very easily end this game and save whatever dignity was still on the table.

...But where’s the fun in that?

47’s voice clips into the silence. “Going all in?”

Diana’s smile is small and wry. “In a sense.” She still has other things she could lose; earrings, pantyhose, her bracelet perhaps. But her time alone with 47 has made her a bit impatient, and… hungry to see what was under those clothes. And this may be the best hand she’ll play for the rest of the night.

If this is the most undressed 47 will ever be around her, she might as well take full advantage of a few drinks and a charged game of strip-tease.

After a few more beats of silence, 47 nods, and there’s something in his eyes that lights a fire in Diana’s stomach. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Diana does a sensational wrist-flick as she lays her lucky sevens down on the table, victory turning the corners of her lips. “Full house.”

47 observes her hand for a moment, then less dramatically turns his cards down, positioning them at a clean square angle; two Jacks, to match the pair on the table. Diana’s smile quickly becomes a flat line.

God dammit. God _dammit_.

“Four of a kind,” 47 states calmly, watching the color drain from Diana’s face. Well, there goes the chance of undressing 47 outside of her fantasies.

Diana resists the urge to mutter obscenities as she meets eyes with the assassin across the table. 47’s leaning forward, arms on the table, watching Diana with more intent than she’d expected. There’s something ravenous lining that cold blue gaze that makes her heart race.

At best, she was expecting a disinterested gaze from 47 as she took off her dress; the same sort of look he gave Lucas and Olivia when they stripped. At worst, she was expecting him to simply get up and leave the room before she even had the chance to undress, already declaring his victory.

She didn’t expect 47 to be so… intense in his observations of her strip-tease.

A deal’s a deal, however; and as much as Diana would’ve preferred to see it reversed, she stands up slowly, feeling warmth climb up her body to sting her cheeks red.

She starts to reach behind, slowly grasping the small metal zipper of her dress, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as 47’s eyes make a trail of fire down her figure. It seems he’s taken a lot more interest in the game now that he’s guaranteed victory.

Diana turns her back to him and exhales slowly, dragging the zipper down to expose the clasps of her bra, the creamy expanse of her lower back to the curve of her ass covered by black lace.

Diana doesn’t even notice the chill in the room hit her back, because the heat from 47’s gaze overwhelms it. She pulls the sleeves aside with an unceremonious tug, and feels her dress slip off her figure to lay on the floor in a navy puddle.

Worrying at her lower lip, Diana feels exposed in more ways than one. But she doesn’t let it show as she turns to 47 with a sway in her hips, meeting his eyes with a bold turn of her head. She supposes that ‘presenting’ herself to 47 wasn’t one of the things she expected to do this evening, but it’s far more interesting than anything else she was planning. At least, that’s what she told herself before she slipped on her favorite black lace panties as a precursor to the strip-poker.

47 starts smoothly, “Well, Ms. Burnwood… are you still in the game?” There’s a challenge in his voice that she can’t resist. Diana nods resolutely. “As long as you are, Mr. 47.” She seats herself with emboldened grace as 47 takes the cards, shuffles them with eerie expertise before sliding Diana’s cards over and dealing the flop.

Diana takes her cards and observes them; a two and a nine, both diamonds. On the table, the three cards shown are also diamonds. She frowns lightly, and then looks up to 47 to see his eyes following the curve of her collarbone before flashing up to meet hers.

Something changes in the air as Diana decides to lay down the bet. “This time, it’s your shirt and my bra.” 47 gives a single, minute nod as he lays down the turn card; a queen of a different suit. Diana gives a low hum; a flush may be the most she can expect from this round.

But when the river is turned and the cards are shown, turns out a flush is all she needs.

Diana leans back with a hand on her chin, faking aloofness. “You know the deal.”

There’s only a heartbeat of hesitation before 47 stands up, and begins to unbutton his shirt. Diana’s eyes follow the trail as inch by inch of skin is exposed, and she swallows as 47 shrugs of his white button-up, revealing lean, toned muscle with a few odd scars mapping the pale skin. To have such a body at his age speaks volumes about his exercise regimen, and Diana’s hands begin to itch with the need to slide down 47’s chest and kiss its scars.

It goes without saying that 47 has the most...tempting body that Diana’s ever seen. She does a phenomenal job of hiding the hunger in her voice as she casually asks, “Care to raise the stakes?” She manages to tear her eyes off 47’s chest as she asks this.

47 creases a brow. “How so?” There wasn’t much more either of them could lose in terms of clothing, but Diana didn’t really have that in mind.

“If I win the next hand, you’ll have to tell me about each of your scars, and how you got them.” 47 tilts his head a bit, wondering at her bet. “Is that all?”

“...And you’ll let me sit in your lap while you answer.”

If 47’s surprised by Diana’s last statement, he shows absolutely no indication of it. Diana’s smiling a bit on the inside, reveling in the idea of straddling 47’s firm thighs and tracing her fingers over the raised scar tissues, inching lower to the scar barely peeking over the hem of his slacks.

_How did you get this one, I wonder?_

47 drops his shirt to the side and reclaims his seat, his eyes never leaving Diana’s. “And suppose I have the better hand?”

Diana pretends to inspect her nails. “What would you prefer?”

47 ponders for a moment, then replies, heat running faintly in his voice.

“You can ask anything you want about my scars.” His eyes narrow faintly. “But then you’ll have to kiss each one in turn.”

Diana looks up, surprise showing briefly on her face before she slowly smiles. “It’s a deal.”

Another round is dealt, and her hand loses. Diana would like to say she’s disappointed in this, but the anticipation buzzing under her skin as she gets up from her chair and keeps her gaze on 47’s bare chest screams that it’s quite the opposite.

She takes her time walking around the table, but then pauses once she’s standing in front of 47, briefly wondering if the lap was still open territory. 47 answers that question for her as he reaches out and gently tugs her forward, and she practically falls into his lap, her heart galloping in her chest.

47’s face is patient, but his eyes are full of heat. He keeps them trained on Diana’s blushing face as she traces a wound on his left shoulder, just under his collarbone.

“Where did you get this?”

“Paris, back in 2004. That whole incident with Inspector Fournier.”

“Hmmm,” Diana replies absently, “I remember that mission. Made it out by the skin of our teeth, both of us. And now look where we are.”

As promised, Diana leans down to press her lips against the scar, her pulse racing as her hands slide down the taught plane of 47’s stomach. 47 smells clean, and slightly spicy like cinnamon bark. An afterthought of cologne mixed with his own uniquely masculine scent. Diana’s already light-headed.

47 has his hands on her hips, leisurely running them up her sides. His touch is both modest and unassuming, yet there’s a current of ravenous hunger underneath it that steals her breath with how palpable it feels.

Diana keeps her lips on the scar for probably a bit too long before leaning up, bringing her attention to another scar close to the middle of his abdomen, three long, jagged nicks raised pink against the pale skin. “And this one?”

“Columbian jungle, back in 2000. A jaguar tried to make a meal of me when I was leaving the heaquarters.”

Smirking a bit, Diana can very well picture 47 wrestling with a snarling beast of a jaguar on the jungle floor before ending its life with a well-placed knife in the chest. “I’m surprised you made it out relatively unscathed.”

Diana slides down until her lips are center with the scar, keeping her hands on his firm thighs. She plants a kiss against the old wound, and feels 47’s quiet inhalation like a small shock up her spine. The way she’s kneeling before him seems so improper…

“Diana,” 47 says above her, gravel in his voice, and she looks up at him with a blush tinting her face, “Come here.”

He’s pulling her up before she can say anything, and their lips crash together, a tight noise leaving Diana’s throat as they kiss feverishly. 47’s chair screeches back with the force of him standing up as Diana’s back hits the tabletop, and she’s held tight underneath a large, lithe body of unyielding strength.

Her hands are grabbing around his back for leverage as their lips move against each others’ hot and needy, the table jolting with the sudden thrust of 47’s hips against Diana’s. “ _God,_ 47,” Diana moans out between kisses, “Don’t stop.”

47 pulls away from her lips only to attack the innocent, unmarked skin of her collarbone. Some of the cards have scattered off the table onto the floor, but neither of them care.

She feels his breath against her ear in slow, predatory gusts as his hand snakes underneath Diana to undo her bra clasp. When he replies, his voice is husky with want.

“I don’t plan to.”


	4. 47/Diana (Yandere 47)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're mine. Never forget that." Possessive 47/Diana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you really think about it, a yandere 47 would be fucking terrifying.

Tilting her face up into the warm stream, Diana closes her eyes, imagining herself somewhere else. A small island, perhaps. Maybe an isolated section of woods, in the northwest reach of Canada. A place where she couldn’t be found.

She gives a wry smile at the thought. Even if she tries to go somewhere, anywhere, 47 will find her. He always has. His innate tracking ability rivals the hunters of old.

Just this morning, she saw it on the news. A young man by the name of Drew Collins, killed by a power-line that snapped during a storm. No apparent signs of foul play.

Diana opens her eyes and lets the water burn them, hands clenched at her sides. Collins was a sweet and level-headed boy, not yet fully exposed to the clandestine nature of the ICA. He made the fatal mistake of having coffee with her. She twists the water off, standing in the shower as the steam slowly dissipates.

They didn’t even have the chance to pick an alias for him.

She walks out into her bedroom, a towel wrapped around her and soaking in the stray droplets from her hair. She pauses, seeing the dark outline of his figure sitting in the chair next to the window. Shadows over his face like a noir film, with only his eyes glowing at her.

It took him longer to show up than she’d expected.

“47.” Diana acknowledges him without moving any further. She’s afraid that if she moves too fast, he will, too.

He doesn’t answer at first. His eyes glance down her figure and goosebumps flare over her damp skin. Then he answers. “That boy, Collins. You don’t have to worry about him any more.”

Diana frowns at him. “You talk about him as if he were a threat.”

Another round of silence as Diana counts the seconds in her head. When it’s clear 47 isn’t going to say anything else, she ventures on.

“It wasn’t anything like that, you know. He was fairly new to the position, and I offered to show him the ropes.”

Something flashes in 47’s eyes as he stands up from the chair suddenly, making Diana flinch at the silence of it.

47 begins to make a slow circle around the bed towards her, and the predatory grace of his gait reminds Diana of a panther ready to pounce. “You didn’t see how he was looking at you.” His words come out clipped, matter-of-fact as Diana’s fist tightens its hold on the towel.

Her lip curls a bit.“And _how_ was he looking at me?” Hopefully not the way 47’s looking at her. He has that look in his eyes that means Diana won’t be leaving her bedroom tonight.

47 pauses in his leisurely pursuit, hovering by the bedroom door. “He was infatuated with you. It was in his eyes and posture. Honestly, it was pathetic how he leaned towards you so much, found excuses to touch you.” Diana’s mind flashes back to Collins’ smiles and bright eyes as he listened to her, shoulders hunched forward as he chuckled at her remarks. The few times he’d touched her were devoid of any lust or malicious intent – once to shake her hand, once to squeeze her shoulder as they said goodbye.

Diana scoffs a bit. “He wasn’t infatuated with _me_ , 47. He was infatuated with my profession, the stories. If you knew how hard he’d worked to-”

“Stop defending him.” 47’s voice is a low rumble, making Diana swallow. Of course he’s standing directly between her and the only exit. Diana can feel the lines drawing closer.

For a few seconds, neither of them move. It’s so quiet that Diana can hear the musical clink of the wind chimes outside of her neighbor’s window. Then, Diana takes a small step back, which prompts 47 to take a long step forward, narrowing their distance.

Diana refuses to think of herself as a trapped animal. She grits her teeth and squares her shoulders at 47, feeling a flash of indignation at the thought of Collins’ warm brown eyes. “Just what gave you the right to take that boy’s life? I thought you were only in this for profit.”

“I was. I still am.” 47 takes another step forward, closing the distance a bit too quickly for Diana’s liking. So Diana steps back, and her legs bump against the bed, making her heart race at the futility of her gestures.

She doesn’t let her nervousness show as she snaps at him, “And what profit was there in killing Collins? He was the brightest recruit at the facility, the one with the most promis-”

47’s closed the distance between them in the span of a heartbeat, a calloused hand grabbing Diana’s face and cutting off her voice with a minute squeeze. Diana’s eyes grow wide as his breath fans over her face and burns her skin with the anger in it.

“Stop. _Defending him_.” He enunciates his words with a hard squeeze that squishes her cheeks, as if he were scolding a child. Panic laces through Diana’s veins as they stare at each other. Then 47’s hand eases its grip to brush a thumb over Diana’s mouth, pushing her lower lip down and digging his nail into the plush skin.

His eyes are like glass, raking over Diana’s face. There’s nothing in them that shows any remorse for what he’s done, and Diana knows they never will.

How did it become like this? Why did she keep ignoring the signs?

It’s because of her that Collins is dead. That Jeffrey disappeared. She even heard the warning in 47’s voice as they laid together one night, his arm wrapped over her and holding her close, his body like a furnace against her back.

“ _Knowles… you seem pretty close to him.” Diana’s eyes, slack with sleep, flutter open at his voice. 47’s chin is resting on her shoulder, his mouth right next to her ear. “He’s an agent, just like you are,” Diana replies quietly, “And like a brother to me.”_

_She feels like she’s stepping through a minefield whenever 47 becomes like this. Her words will determine the fate of her colleagues, and if she isn’t careful, she’ll walk into their office a week from now to an empty desk and packed boxes against the wall. Her coworkers murmuring about another fatal accident._

_47’s silence shows that he doesn’t quite believe what she’s saying. In the corner of her vision, the numbers of her alarm clock glow red. 11:32. Diana quickly follows with, “He’ll be transferring in a few days to the Moscow headquarters. There’s no need to worry yourself over him.”_

_Still, 47 says nothing. Instead, he pulls her closer, almost crushing her in his grip. Diana makes a small noise before she can stop herself, as 47’s lips brush the shell of her ear._

“ _He’s called you twice today.”_

_Diana grits her teeth, her mind racing for excuses. There weren’t any that were very plausible, but they had to do._

“ _His handler was late in providing him the files for his mission. He called me because he knew that I had permission to access the files, and that I could transfer them to his account. He called me twice because the first call didn’t go through.”_

_She’s only half-lying. She actually did miss the first call that Jeffrey made to her, hoping that he wouldn’t call again. He did._

_And it was because his wife had died and he didn’t know who else to talk to since his family never knew about his marriage._

“ _One hour and twelve minutes,” 47’s voice rumbles against her ear, “is a long time to talk for a simple request.” Diana’s heart stops at this. She didn’t even think they had been talking that long, because half of it seemed to be Knowles crying and her consoling him._

_Diana stays quiet, hoping beyond hope that 47 wouldn’t get up. 47’s steady heartbeat is a contrast to the pounding in her chest. He’s silent for a few moments, and then starts to get up._

_Immediately, Diana turns and grabs his arm, her nails digging into it. “Please,” She tells him, “He’s mourning. His wife passed away just yesterday. He’s transferring to Moscow in only a few days.”_

_47’s blue eyes cut through the dark at her, and he calmly lays a hand over her vice grip._

“ _You don’t have to lie to me, Diana.”_

She should’ve declined Collins’ offer. Should’ve smiled and said, ‘No, sorry, I’m a bit busy at the moment.’ But it was the way he tilted his head like a puppy when he asked her, ‘You wanna get some coffee at the little cafe nearby? I have a couple questions, and was wondering if you could answer them.’

Diana figured there wasn’t any chance at getting caught. 47 was a continent away, in Bolivia. He even told her he’d be staying the night at a La Paz hotel. So she made the mistake of saying yes.

47’s hand drags her back into the present as his nail cuts into her lip and draws a thin line of blood. He pushes his thumb into the cut as the blood slowly trickles down her chin. Diana finds that she can’t move.

She sees 47’s eyes fixate themselves on the blood, and already knows what he’s about to do. 47 leans forward, presses his tongue against the trickle of red, and licks over her mouth, slow and wet. Diana squeezes her eyes shut, trying not to grimace as the small cut stings.

His lips ghost over hers as he murmurs, “You know I love you.”

She keeps her eyes closed. “I know.”

He loves her, yes. But in the way a dragon loves his gold.

A hand goes to her thigh, slowly sliding under the towel. Diana opens her eyes, and all she can see is blue.

“You know I’d do anything for you.” His voice is calm, gentle. A glaring contrast to the storm in his eyes.

Her lip trembles. “I know.”

His hand inches higher, tracing the small nicks and hickeys marring the delicate skin of her thigh. He seems to like marking his ‘territory’, if the various scars spotting her body are any indication of that.

47 presses forward, pushing her onto the bed gently, and Diana lets herself fall underneath him. 47’s hand grabs her wrist, pulling away her hold on the towel as Diana turns her face away. She stares out the window into the black of the night, thinks about the warm brown of Collins’ eyes, the milky emptiness of death in them now.

He knows she’s thinking about Collins. He squeezes her thigh a little too hard, digging blunt nails into the flesh. Diana winces, turns to look up at the arctic blue of 47’s eyes as he pulls her towel aside, revealing his handiwork of bite marks and bruises littering her body.

He’s always loved biting. Maybe an excuse to taste blood.

His hand slides over the soft skin of her stomach, between the valley of her breasts to grab her neck. She knows better than to look away this time. He gives a few measured squeezes, only seems satisfied when she starts to choke slightly. Diana wishes she were outside, and far, far away from here.

Diana’s eyes gloss over, her voice trembling. “You didn’t have to kill him.”

47’s eyes narrow into slits as his hand squeezes her throat even harder, feeling her pulse flare. “He didn’t have to get in my way.”


	5. 47/Diana (First Meeting)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I choose him." 
> 
> Diana and 47 meet for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt was an interesting one to write in how it made me think about a believable way to expand on 47 and Diana's initial thoughts of each other; and how to get the friendship train rolling lol

At exactly 6 o’ clock, Diana wakes up, and makes herself some coffee. The coffee at this facility is lackluster to say the least, like something leftover in the pot at a back-roads diner. But she drinks it anyway, having gotten maybe two or three hours of sleep that night. She cradles the cup of coffee in her hands and thinks about the man she’s supposed to meet.

He comes with glowing praise from the organization handing him over. His assassinations are clean and impersonal, nothing like serial-killer stabbings or other murders that make for a messy crime scene, one with too much DNA all over it. He does his job and does it well, in fact the best out of anyone else they had to offer.

Diana’s seen pictures of him before; small profiles that never went below his shoulders, his cold blue eyes looking at something much farther away than the camera. She’s read his case files, learned every scarce bit of information she could find on him. She’s not sure what she was preparing for, exactly, but she knows it wasn’t this.

The cold, vast air of the mountains suits 47 a little too well, standing before Diana in a black parka and gray cargo pants. He’s tall and thin but in a well-built, hardened manner. Carries himself with an ease that puts Diana on edge, but she doesn’t show it as she gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Majestic, isn’t it?” She asks him. A bit of small talk may not do any harm with 47, although he seems less inclined to it than she is.

They walk beside each other into the facility, yellow florescent bulbs lighting their way through the vast tunnel of concrete and steel beams. On one of the overhead bridges, Soders walks out to stare down at the two of them, face too shadowed to let Diana see the disdain she knows is on it. Soders let her know quickly that 47 wasn’t a good suit for this type of work.

He’s waved other case files in front of her face, telling her that there were more suitable candidates, candidates with backgrounds that their organization could draw back further than an obscure hospital in Romania. Candidates with more information than question marks in their profiles.

Soders’ dislike for 47 is simple. He doesn’t know him, doesn’t trust him. Diana can understand his wariness, but she doesn’t respect it. Something in Diana knows that 47’s the perfect candidate, and Soder’s side remarks won’t change her mind otherwise.

“Tell me, what did it feel like, taking lives?” Diana turns to ask 47, whose eyes center on the man standing on the crosswalk. They flicker briefly, then turn to her.

“Random. Disordered.” It’s not like he’s disguising his thoughts behind a veil. He’s stating his response like a student answers a question in class; simple and matter-of-fact. Diana doesn’t know why she finds it so off-putting.

“Is that why you came here?” She asks 47, “why you let us test you?” 47’s heard her question but isn’t really thinking about it as he turns his gaze back to Soders.

47’s voice has a trace of omen in it as he replies, “Maybe I’m not the only one being tested.”

* * *

47 passes his first mission with flying colors, unsurprisingly. Soders tries not to let the distaste show on his face as he watches 47 from the two-way mirror, Diana sparing a glance at him partly from curiosity but mostly from self-satisfation.

47’s pacing the room in front of them, his dark uniform a striking silhouette against the dingy white of the observation room tiles. The beams of the fluorescent lights bring shadows over his eyes and sharp corners in his cheekbones. Diana feels like she’s watching a predator prowling in its cage, bored, thinking of everything and nothing at the same time.

Soders’ voice snaps her out of her muse. “I just got word. Romania was a dead end.”

Diana’s eyes stay on Soders a bit longer this time, her brow creased. “Are you saying that he lied?”

Soders gives a tiny shrug that hints at some sort of half-truth. 47’s still pacing in front of them, in slow, measured steps. “Place is real enough. Deserted. But we found no trace that your man was ever there. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

She was afraid he’d say something like that. Diana turns her attention back to the new recruit, frowning. While she doesn’t think 47 is...incapable of lying (secrets _are_ their stock and trade, after all), he doesn’t seem keen on holding the truth from a potential employer, either. Like he wouldn’t bother lying when it didn’t suit him.

“Someone erased his steps,” Diana replies, her tone more of a suggestion than a statement. Soders doesn’t seem convinced by it.

Soders keeps his gaze on 47 as well, a look in his eyes that Diana doesn’t like. He gives a noncommittal grunt. “Mm. We’ll keep digging, of course. But frankly, it’s as if the earth just spat him out.” _From hell,_ he doesn’t say but Diana can hear it in his tone.

For the first time since she met 47, Diana feels a tug of doubt in her chest. Soders had seen everything that 47 did in his first mission, yet still doesn’t like the way the recruit carries himself. Like he could sit in a corner until his owner gave permission to tear out someone’s throat.

Like 47 isn’t so much killing from choice as he is killing because it’s all he knows how to do. If that’s the truth, then he’s nothing short of perfect for this job.

“Are you still determined?” Soders asks, hinting that there’s still an option to back out of all this and admit that she might be wrong. Diana knows she isn’t wrong, though, and she isn’t about to take the bait.

“Does it matter?” She asks him instead. “I was told there would be no second chances.”

Soders replies like he’s softly scolding a child. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Miss Burnwood.” What this tells Diana is that Soders is willing to overlook the ICA’s policies if it means taking this question-mark of a man in front of them, and putting him back into the world to become someone else’s problem.

But what Diana simply sees is a puzzle that needs a bit of solving. She’s always been good at puzzles, even if this one happens to be a man with a blank past and a kill streak worth profiling in crime shows.

Diana answers without hesitating. “My decision stands.”

If Soders is disappointed with her decision, he doesn’t show it. “Very well. I’ll be watching.” 47 turns those otherworldly, mercury-blue eyes to them as Soders says this, pausing in his pace. It’s as if he knows they’re talking about his (lack of a) past and how they’re sniffing around something that they know has too many holes in it to make sense.

In particular, Diana notices how his eyes train themselves directly on Soders through the glass, like he knows, somehow, where that uneasiness is radiating from, like he’s caught the scent in the cold air.

She thinks to herself, _Congratulations, Soders. The predator has noticed you and is taking a good, hard look._

* * *

The day before the final test, Diana spots 47 at the other end of the cafeteria. He’s taken post against a wall, watching other recruits and employees mingle amongst their breakfast like he’s at some sort of exhibition. It’s like basic socialization wasn’t hardwired into him.

She doesn’t know how long he’s been there, watching everyone. But she figures now is as good a time as any to catch his attention with a wave, and gesture at him to take a seat with her. 47 sees Diana’s gesture, hesitates for a moment before walking past the other tables filled with people, talking, laughing, complaining about their tests.

A good number of tables hush when 47 walks past them, discreetly glancing at him like they’ve caught wind of his accomplishments, as well as Soders’ disapproval. Diana feels a tug of amusement at their quiet awe and uneasiness of 47.

He’s standing at her table, observing her quietly and ignoring the wall of eyes on his back. “Good morning,” Diana replies lightly, pushing aside her picked-apart but mostly uneaten breakfast. 47 replies with a nod, but doesn’t make a move to sit down.

Diana nods at a nearby seat. “Please, just sit with me a while. Enjoy some of this _gourmet_ coffee with me.” She smiles a bit at her own sarcasm, but 47’s mouth stays a flat line. He sits down in a stiff, uncertain fashion across from Diana and looks at her like he’s some sort of, computer, waiting for input.

“How do you feel about your final test?” Diana asks him, thrumming her nails lightly against the ceramic of her coffee cup. 47’s eyes immediately catch the movement, and stay on her fingers for a heartbeat before he looks back up at her.

“I feel ready enough,” He replies, “At least, ready to be finished with this.” It’s more or less the answer she expected from him. Diana thinks about the stern lines on Soders’ face and keeps herself from sighing.

“I know what you mean. Well, you’ve proven yourself time and time again in your endeavors, I’m sure tomorrow won’t be any different.”

47 doesn’t reply, but Diana feels that he’s found some ease in her comment, if the subtle softening of his eyes indicates anything.

Diana hasn’t seen Soders yet. He’s probably off plotting some way to make 47 fail his test. 47 doesn’t seem affected by Soders’ dislike of him, from the few interactions they’ve had with each other that Diana’s observed.

Diana finds she likes that in 47. Whether he does this purposely or instinctively, he doesn’t seem to care about others’ thoughts and opinions of him. He’s here to prove himself worthy of a highly coveted position, not to make people like him. Friends aren’t even an afterthought.

But...perhaps, Diana could make him consider making room for at least one.

“Have you eaten yet?” She asks him, and 47 nods again. “Earlier this morning. As you said, they’ve got quite the gourmet coffee.”

This takes Diana off guard, and she can’t help but chuckle a bit. Her laughter eases the tension between them as 47 watches her with unreadable eyes. She takes a sip of the coffee to clear her throat, and tries not to wince at how burned it tastes.

“Why did you choose me?” 47’s question breaks the air and makes Diana tense slightly. She looks at him, her face purposely blank. “Pardon?”

47 looks at her like he knows how she’s trying to side-step the question. “You must have had plenty of other candidates for this position. Why did you choose me, out of them?”

It’s honestly not a question she was expecting from 47. It just doesn’t seem like him to be uncertain of anything.

She ponders on her answer for a moment, before replying as honestly as she’s able to. “Your work was simply the most impressive of all the candidates. Cleanly executed, practiced without being formulaic. You can adapt well to an environment and its tools with a clear strategy, although your ability to improvise is nothing to sniff at either.”

47 takes in her words like he’s seriously considering them. Diana can’t help but be flattered by it. Then he looks up, and his eyes are blank again.

“Soders doesn’t seem too keen on having this position be filled by me.”

Diana leans forward, her voice hushed as her eyes flick over to the others. “He doesn’t know you, or understand your motivations. And because of that, he doesn’t find it in himself to trust you, at least as far as this line of work goes.” _Don’t take it personally,_ she almost says, but both she and 47 know that’s a lie.

She knows now why Soders doesn’t like 47. Because he’s afraid.

And he’s afraid because men like 47 will sooner chew him up and spit him out than roll over for him.

Diana leans back and decides to finish her coffee, for the sake of it not growing cold. She finds that the taste isn’t quite as unpleasant this time; perhaps this coffee has finally grown on her. There’s a sudden flicker of determination in her chest as she meets eyes with 47, who’s looking at her like he wants to ask questions he’s afraid to know the answers to.

“Honestly,” Diana says, “I can’t wait for you to pass that final test. Both you and I know that will drive the higher-ups _wild_.”

There’s that small bud of companionship starting to grow between them. Diana can feel it with how the air changes and how 47’s leaning towards her, his eyes softening just a whisper.

“Care to get more coffee?” He asks her.

Diana smiles. “After you.”


	6. Young 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snippet from 47's childhood, or his time at the asylum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was going for a lighthearted approach to the prompt, but it ended up being... not very lighthearted at all. Sorry if that's what you were wanting, Berichalcra.  
> Fun fact: On the Hitman wiki, it states he used to shoot at the asylum guards with homemade slingshots. He also kept a rabbit and a lab rat as pets. Aaw.

Nestled in a cupboard towards the back of the spare medical room, 47 tries to make his breathing as quiet as possible. Dr. Vasile came to visit him today, with some lame excuse about how they needed to do a quick check-up. 47 already knew that ‘check-up’ likely included needles, and unnecessary poking and prodding in places that 47 very much preferred _not_ being poked and prodded.

He’d already grasped the euphemisms the doctors used, and already knew Vasile was full of it. So when Vasile took a firm hold on his arm with a fake smile on his face, 47’s answer to the ‘check-up’ was a swift kick to the knee, just hard enough to make the doctor buckle as 47 ripped his arm away and ran for the door.

47 had already rounded the corner by the time Vasile got off his knees with an annoyed grunt before running out to the hallway, frantically darting his head left and right.

“You little shit! Where’d you go?!” The doctor’s voice echoed behind 47 as he darted right again, heading towards a room that he hadn’t seen anyone go into for a while. He made it to the end of the hallway, grabbed at the doorknob and let out a brief sigh of relief as it turned under his hand. He’s glad the doctors didn’t bother locking some rooms, although they’re likely to start locking every one they see after this.

Now he’s pushed up against the side of the cupboard in complete black, with only a sliver of gray letting him see towards the door of the mostly empty room. He can see shadows moving under the bottom of the door as the guards and doctors search for him.

“You check this room yet?” A guard’s voice booms muffled behind the door, and 47 recognizes the deep grunt of it. Adams, one of the older guards at the asylum and one of his least favorites. If Adams catches 47, the clone’s likely to get bruises on his arms that will take at least two weeks to go away. Adams has a way of manhandling the clones like they’re rag dolls or something.

It’s at this moment 47 sorely wishes he had his slingshot with him. He’d wait for Adams to come into the room with his heavy footsteps (47 swears that he makes them louder on purpose, to try to intimidate others around him, the brute), and when he had his back turned, 47 would push the door open just enough to aim for the back of the head. He knows just how far he has to pull the slingshot back to make Adams see stars.

Unfortunately, all the wishing in the world isn’t going to bring the slingshot to him, from its hiding place under the bed. So the most he can hope for is for Adams to do a brief scan of the room and then march his way out. There’s no way he’s observant enough to open all of the cupboards in here. 47 watches the doorknob jiggle briefly, then turn as the guard pushes the door open hard enough to bounce against the wall, flicking the lights on.

47 winces a bit at the sudden light stinging his eyes, but keeps his focus on Adams, who makes a slow circle around the room, disappearing from 47’s narrow line of vision. Then he hears the sound of the cupboards being forcefully opened on the opposite side of the room, and his heart stops. Adams usually isn’t this determined to find him. Maybe he’s still angry about the welt left on his back from 47’s slingshot the week before.

Serves him right, though. He shouldn’t have talked to 6 like that. To him, 6 is worth more than all the guards and doctors combined.

47 knows that it’s only a matter of seconds before his own cupboard is opened, and he’s grabbed out of his hiding place by too-large, unforgiving hands, and dragged down the hallway to that awful chair with all the buckles and fasteners.

So he pushes the cupboard open slow enough to be silent, glances out to see Adams’ back to him as the guard digs through one of the cupboards, muttering too low for 47 to hear, but he doubts it’s anything nice.

47 slides his way out of the cupboard, keeps his eyes trained on the guard as he creeps over to the door, left wide open. Guess he’s underestimated Adams’ peripherals, because as soon as he runs out the door he hears a loud “HEY! You-” boom behind him, but he’s running too fast to hear the rest of it.

Suddenly, there’s a guard stepping out of the room to his right, and he catches sight of 47 just as the clone runs past him. Unfortunately, he’s also quick enough to make a grab at 47, grasping the back of his shirt hard enough to jolt 47 back, yanking him out of his momentum and stealing his breath. 47 hears Adams’ footsteps pounding down the adjacent hallway, and panic shoots ice-cold through his veins as he slams his head back into the guard’s chin, hard enough to mean it.

It’s enough to make the guard let go of him with a wet sputter, before cursing ‘hot enough to peel paint’ as one of the doctors would put it. 47’s already gone before the guard can get a second chance, sprinting his way through the maze of asylum corridors. He’s glad he didn’t take those track runs for granted.

A few minutes later has 47 hiding in one of the janitor closets, trying to lay flat as possible behind some bleach buckets. He feels himself getting light-headed from the chemical smell permeating the tiny space, but shakes himself out of it as he hears two pairs of footsteps stop in front of the closet door.

Honestly, he was hoping that they’d get tired of looking for him and just give up, and then maybe forget to give him his ‘check-up.’ They already had so many other clones to worry about, so why are they this keen on finding him?

The footsteps are talking. “Think he might be in here?” A male’s voice he doesn’t recognize, likely a new doctor. They seem to change through doctors at this facility like used tissue.

“We can always check, it’s not like he could be anywhere else,” A female voice replies. This one he does recognize. Dr. Travers, a doctor who’s been here for a surprisingly long time. Perhaps she’s not as disposable as the rest of the doctors.

The door’s swept open, flooding the small space with artificial light. 47 tries to lie as still as possible.

The male voice again. “Maybe you should try calling for him. He likes you.”

Correction. 47 doesn’t necessarily _like_ Travers, he just hates her the least out of the doctors. Maybe because she’s pretty and smells nice and smiles at 47 whenever she sees him. And maybe because she’d once given him a kiss on the cheek for being so ‘brave’ after a shot, and it made 47’s chest feel funny.

It doesn’t mean that he _likes_ her.

A small sigh from Travers. “What makes you think that?”

A sly chuckle from the male doctor. “C’mon, how could he not like you? You’ve got such a cute face.”

47 hears a light swat on the male’s arm as Travers laughs back. “Shut up.” 47 feels oddly jealous of the interaction. Almost jealous enough to poke his head out from his hiding place and tell them to stop it. Thankfully, he doesn’t.

They do a quick scan over the broom closet before heading down the hallway, idly chatting with each other. 47 lies there for a little while, counting the minutes through his heart beats. It should almost be time for lunch. Maybe they’ll stop looking for him and take a lunch break. The adults are always scarce around that time, too, so 47 will have a chance to go back to his room. He’ll have to miss lunch, but it’s not like they serve anything edible, anyway.

Nobody else has come down the hallway for the past minute. 47 pushes some buckets aside and crawls out of the closet, tipping the door open and peeking down both sides of the hallway. Seems empty enough.

He goes back to the bunkers and sees 6 sitting on his bed. When the older clone sees him, his face lights up. “Where were you? Everyone’s gone to lunch.”

Before 47 can answer him, 6 stands up and walks closer, his nose scrunching slightly. “You smell weird. And you’re covered in dust.”

47 stiffens slightly, before replying. “I was hiding from the doctors.”

6’s eyes widen a bit, and then he looks past 47’s shoulder at the door. “The doctors? You’re avoiding the injections, aren’t you?” A look from 47 is the only answer 6 needs.

The older clone looks solemn.“You know that they’re going to make you get them, eventually.”

47 shrugs. “I know.”

6 raises a brow. “So why do you keep avoiding them like this?”

47 frowns. “Why _don’t_ you keep avoiding them? I’m not going to just roll over and let them do what they want.”

This brings a smile out of 6. “That’s what I like about you so much. C’mon, let’s go get some lunch.”

Now it’s 47’s turn to look solemn. “I can’t. What if one of the guards or doctors see me?” 6 pauses at this, then he smiles at 47. “I guess we’ll both run.”

As much as 47 likes the idea, he doesn’t want to drag 6 into this if he doesn’t have to. So he shakes his head as seriously as he can. “Sorry. I’m just going to stay here.”

6’s smile fades a bit when he realizes that 47’s not kidding. He sighs, but it’s good-natured little huff of air. “Alright. I’ll swipe you something to eat.” He walks out and leaves 47 to stand next to his bed in the dim, empty room.

47 ignores the light, petulant growling of his stomach as he lies down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He could probably sneak outside and play with the stray cat that’s made a home from a tossed-out box in the back. Or he could wait for 6 to get back and they could go to the library, one of the few places that wasn’t completely off limits.

He finds himself starting to doze off, which isn’t often since his bed’s not the most comfortable place. He starts daydreaming about the places outside of the walls, places he’d read about in books with lots of streets and buildings. Forests with large, beautiful trees that shaded the path. He could probably walk under those trees and never get tired of them. He’s never seen beyond the forest that’s surrounded the facility.

He knows that if he’s ever able to walk past those gates, he’d keep walking and never look back. He’d have 6 come with him, and they could run off to one of those cities with all the streets and buildings, where’s it’s easy to get lost. Maybe they’d find a place to lay low for a few nights, with a nice family that won’t ask too many questions.

Maybe they’ll be able to have a life that doesn’t involve a parade of examinations and needles, or anger, or fear.

A large hand grabbing his arm snaps him out of his daydreaming.

“There you are.” That growl means it’s Adams. 47’s heart starts galloping in his chest as he tries to yank himself away from the guard, kicking his foot into Adams’ chest. This only makes the hand tighten its hold hard enough to make 47 cry in pain.

“Fucker,” Adams growls, “Thinkin’ you could just keep running, huh?”

That’s probably the smartest thing he’s ever said to 47, even if he doesn’t know it. Adams yanks 47 from his bed and starts to drag him out of the bunkers, ignoring 47’s attempts to claw his way out of the guard’s grasp.

“Found ‘im,” Adams echoes in front of him, where 47 can see a few doctors standing together. One of them is Vasile, and 47 can tell by the look on his face that they’re going to make the restraints extra tight this time.

47’s mind kicks into the few options he has left, and then quickly picks one. He pulls forward, and bites _hard_ into Adams’ arm, feeling his teeth sink deep enough to taste the not-quite plasma of blood. Adams’ yell pierces his ears as he manages to slip his hand out of the loosened grasp, and turns to _run_ down the hallway.

His heart’s thumping in his ears, muffling the voices behind him as he frantically tries to think of a few places that haven’t been discovered yet. There weren’t any, at least nearby. Maybe if he turns a few corners-

Two more guards jump out in front of him, and 47 almost slams into their chests. He skids to a stop, takes a few steps back and almost runs into a doctor. Shit, he’s cornered. Maybe he can slide under their legs, the way he’d seen a spy do in one of those action movies a janitor had snuck to them.

He tries it, and almost succeeds. Almost. That guard’s probably seen the same movie.

He grabs at 47’s shirt as he’s right between the knees, and pulls him up. 47 starts struggling again, but his feet are dangling in the air. He feels more hands on him, grabbing at his arms and legs, pulling him different ways. A scream leaves his throat before he can stop it.

“Got him, I got him-”

“Careful there, don’t get next to his mouth-”

“Look at that. Damn it hurt. Better not have any diseases-”

“Don’t worry, he’s clean. Checked his samples last week.”

47 tries kicking back as hard as he can, and manages to get one of the doctors in the stomach. This small bit of victory is quickly squashed when someone hits him on the side of his head, making his vision go blurry, his temple throbbing in pain.

“Geez, how hard did you hit him?” Travers’ voice, sounding concerned.

“Hard enough to teach him a lesson,” Vasile’s voice bites back. “Ort-Meyer doesn’t pay us enough for this.”

They’re carrying him to the examination room, which only makes 47 fight harder. He’s lashing out at the hands and arms holding him with every ounce of strength he has left, snarling every obscene word he knows.

“Damn, this kid’s strong,” One of the guards grunts as 47 feels yet _another_ pair of hands grabbing him, “Got a mouth on him, too.” They’re pushing him onto the chair with all the horrible straps and buckles, ready to lock him in place. Another one of the guards chuckle. “Right? I wonder where he learned those.”

“Shut up, Travis,” He hears Adams mutter.

It takes a good number of them to wrestle 47 into the chair restraints, first his wrists, and then his ankles. 47 keeps struggling regardless, even if he wants to cry at the futility of it. It’s not fair, they must’ve used half of the staff to subdue him. How’s one kid supposed to fight against all of these adults?

They want to control everything about him, his body, his sleep schedule, his food intake, the fucking space in his head. They think everything about him belongs to them, like he’s some kind of, merchandise. _Fuck_ that.

A bright light suddenly blinds him, and he tries to shield his eyes from it but can’t because his arms are locked in place. Instead, he clenches his eyes shut as hard as he can, and feels tears prick at the corners of them.

“Good work, team,” One of the guards says. A few tired chuckles answer him as 47 clenches his teeth, the throbbing in his temple threatening to become something worse.

“47?” He hears Travers ask him. “47, honey, it’s gonna be fine. They just need to check up on you. If you don’t get your shots, you’ll get sick.”

Her voice is a little too baby for 47’s liking. He’s not some dumb little kid that’s sniffling because he’s afraid of a flu shot. He's almost thirteen. He opens his eyes and sees Vasile flicking the bubbles out of a needle in the corner of his vision. And then he’s terrified all over again.

Most of the guards have already started leaving, but a few, including Adams, have stayed behind. Probably to watch the result of their efforts. 47 would very much prefer _not_ to have them around during this invasion of privacy.

“Please,” he almost whispers to Travers. “Can you make them go away?”

Travers creases a brow. “Who?” Then she turns to where 47’s eyes are pointed, at the guards. “Oh, them?” She asks. Then she turns back to 47 with a smile and a voice that’s too shiny.

“Don’t worry about them, honey. They’re so quiet it’s like they’re not even there.”

47 feels the color drain from his face as one of the guards smirks. He turns his head and sees Vasile standing beside him, the needle’s clear liquid gleaming in the fluorescent light.

47 shuts his eyes again, and goes to a place far, far back into his head. And tries not to cry.


	7. Puppy Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 47 makes a trip to the grocery store and bumps into a kid who talks too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while I was writing this, I was thinking about how a little kid would talk and act. Hopefully I made it realistic. I don't actually have any kids of my own and I don't hang around any, so this is mostly from my memories as a child. Also, 47 gets to deal with a kid who has a weird crush on him!

“Can we get this?”

Averi asks, holding up a box of fruit roll-ups. Her mom glances at the box before turning her attention back to the cookies. “Don’t we already have some at home?”

“Yeah, but they’re not the kind I like. Mallory likes the strawberry kind.” They’re standing in the snack aisle of the grocery store, picking up desserts for Mallory’s birthday party next week. They’ve been to this store a few times; it’s a bit old and run-down but since it’s the closest to their new house and has the best sales, they’ve been frequenting it a lot more than the nicer one they used to go to.

Her mom sighs, tossing a box of Oreo’s into the cart. “Alright, but if we get those, you’ll have to put the gummy bears back.”

Averi’s face falls. “Really?”

Her mom nods. “I can’t go over the budget since Mallory’s birthday is next week. It’ll have to be one or the other.” Averi pauses, stares down at the box in her hand, agonizes over it for a good few seconds before putting it back on the shelf, deciding that the gummy bears are the way to go.

Her mom smiles at her. “Good choice. Say, could you run over to aisle 8 and grab some paper plates and napkins, please? And some plastic cups, purple ones if they have them.”

Averi nods, already turning to run out of the aisle. “Don’t run, Averi!” Her mom calls after her, and Averi forces herself into a walk, scanning down the small aisles. They were in aisle 3, so 8 should be towards the other end of the store. She can’t say she likes this store as much as the one they used to go to; this one just seems… dingy, and kind of sad.

The other one had shiny wooden floors and flowers at the front that Averi always loved to stop and look at. And one of the ladies who worked at the bakery was super nice, and sometimes gave her a cookie, freshly baked. The floors here are a cheap linoleum and the workers are teenagers disinterestedly stocking the shelves. They all look like they’d rather be somewhere else, giving her mildly annoyed looks whenever she runs up next to them.

Since her mom left dad and got another job, the other store was just too far away and too expensive to keep going to.

Her walking turns into a light jog as she passes by aisle 7 before stopping dead in her tracks. Looking down 7, she sees a man in a white button up and black slacks standing at one of the medicine shelves, looking at a roll of bandages. She’s only been here a handful of times, but she’s never seen this man before.

He’s tall and bald, and seems very business-like as he puts the bandage roll in his basket, which, now that she’s looking at it, doesn’t seem to have much in it besides medicine and first-aid stuff.

She finds herself walking over to stand next to him, curiosity making her forget her quest for paper plates. He doesn’t seem to notice her at first, picking up a box of band-aids and tossing it into the basket without really looking at it.

Averi shifts on her feet for a second, trying to think of something to say that will get his attention. But then he glances over at her, and his eyes are the most startling blue she’s ever seen. They’re the same bright blue as her neighbor’s pet husky, although they’re not as friendly.

“Hi!” She chirps up at him, and his eyes stay on her for a moment before he looks back to the band-aids, ignoring her. She purses her lips a bit in frustration.

Averi can see a bandage on his cheek, a small rectangular censor of white that piques her curiosity. She points at it, and asks, “Where’d you get that bandage from? Did you get in a fight?” The man’s eyes widen briefly at the question as he noticeably stiffens. The frown on his hard-looking face gets bigger.

“Has nobody ever told you to not talk to strangers?”

His tone is a mixture of annoyance and aloofness as he turns his back to Averi, pointedly fixing his attention on a bottle of peroxide. Averi doesn’t let this deter her from stepping up closer, where she has to strain her neck up at him. Looking up like this, she can see that some of the store’s lights have gone out, and have probably been that way for a while.

 _He’s tall,_ she thinks. _Taller than dad._

She’s not sure why she’s decided to stick around the tall man since he doesn’t seem to really like her being this close, if his subtle shift away from her means anything. Maybe because of how different he seems to most adults she’d been around; at least, he carries himself differently.

She hums a bit at his response before replying, “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. Sometimes I get in fights and don’t tell my mom because she gets worried and mad.”

“Where is your mother?” The man asks without looking at her, reading the ingredients on the back of the peroxide bottle.

“Over in the bread aisle, I think,” Averi answers absentmindedly. “Anyway,” She flexes an arm up and proudly pats it. “I used to get in a lot of fights at my old school. Mostly boys. Knocked them all down flat. Sometimes they’d tell the teacher, but most of the time they wouldn’t. Maybe because they’re embarrassed about a girl beating them.”

She doesn’t know why she’s telling this to him, maybe to prove herself or to impress him. He doesn’t seem very impressed, however. “You shouldn’t be getting in fights like that,” He answers absently, before placing the peroxide in his basket and turning to walk away. Averi decides to follow him, undeterred but struggling to keep up with his brisk pace. Geez, he’s a fast walker.

“Why not? Most of the time they deserve it. This one kid, Thomas, he used to push my friend off the swing at recess. I told him to stop, but he didn’t, so I punched him in the face. He cried for hours, but he never messed with her after that.”

The tall man stops suddenly, and Averi almost runs into his legs. He turns to look down at her, and the lighting of the store casts shadows over his face. He looks like a villain in one of those movies that her mom doesn’t let her watch.

She expects him to say something, but he doesn’t. He just looks down at her, and Averi finds herself getting nervous. She sputters a bit, “B-but it turns out he liked her. Like, _like_ liked her. Mom said that’s why he kept picking on her, to get her attention.”

He stares down at her for a few more moments, then turns to keep walking. Averi practically has to run to keep up. “Have you ever picked on a girl you liked?” she blurts out, following him past the breakfast aisle, then the snack aisle, ignoring the concerned look of one shopper with a baby strapped to her chest.

“No,” is all he says, seeming determined to shake her off.

“Really?” she asks. “Have you ever liked a girl before?”

He doesn’t answer this time. He makes an abrupt stop in the fresh produce section next to the apples, and this time she actually _does_ bump into him, her face smacking into his lower back. She stumbles, but then is quickly caught by her shoulders. He moved so fast she didn’t even see him turn to grab her. He stares down at her, blue eyes hard.

“Careful,” he chides, squeezing her shoulders before releasing them and turning away. He picks up a red apple from the stack, inspecting it.

“Sorry,” Averi replies sheepishly. “...You have big hands.” She’s looking at his hands now, noticing how calloused they are, how easily they seemed to envelope her shoulders with their steady warmth. Looking up at him now makes her chest feel weird, her heart racing the way it does when she’s run a full track length on the playground.

The man pauses, turning the apple he’s holding to look at his hand briefly. Then he puts the apple back in its place but doesn’t reach for another one. He seems to be thinking about something.

“Why’d you put that one back?” Averi asks, using this as an excuse to push up in front of him and grab the rejected apple. She turns it over the same way he did, looking for bruises or scratches. There aren’t any.

He steps back from her quickly. “It had a bruise on it.”

“Where?” She asks, turning to him, genuinely curious. “I don’t see any.”

He seems to bristle a bit at her question. “That’s not the same one I was holding.”

Averi gives him her best ‘I’m not convinced’ look. “Liar,” she says. “I saw you put this one down.” The man stares at her for a moment then scoffs, but there’s no anger in it.

“You got me,” He says, reaching over her to grab another apple. _He’s so tall,_ she thinks again. _And he smells nice._ Not to mention he has the bluest eyes she’s ever seen.

“I can help you pick apples out,” Averi says, holding up the apple in her hands. “Mom says I have a good eye for it.” The man pauses at her offer, then she notices a brief turn at the corner of his lips. It’s not really a smile, though.

He looks down at her, and slowly takes the apple out of her hands. “All right, then.”

Averi feels a spark of happiness in her chest at his acceptance, then quickly turns back to focus on the apples. “How many do you want?” She asks, grabbing another apple and keenly looking it over; she’s determined to only find the prettiest apples for him.

“Just six,” He replies, stepping beside her, his shadow engulfing her frame. Averi nods briefly, putting the apple in her hands back onto the shelf. It has a small scratch. She grabs another one and puts that back too; not because it had any marks, but because she likes looking busy.

“What’s your name?” The man asks her, dropping another apple into the small plastic bag he’s holding.

“Averi,” the little girl replies, then turns to look up at him. “What’s yours?”

There’s a moment of hesitation from him. Then, “Tobias.”

Averi smiles a bit. “That’s kind of a weird name.” She turns pink, realizing what she just said. “But you know, you _look_ like a Tobias.” She quickly tears her eyes away from the cute stranger and focuses on the floor. It could use some sweeping.

“You think so?” Tobias’ tone has a dash of amusement in it, which makes her look up again. His face has softened a bit but his eyes are still that same startling blue, quietly observing her. Averi’s chest starts feeling funny again. Is this what like-liking someone feels like?

She can see why Thomas had been trying so hard to get her friend’s attention, now. Attention from someone you like is… well, it feels nice.

“You know,” She says shyly, grabbing an apple and pretending to inspect it. “You have really pretty eyes.” She feels embarrassment sting her face as soon as the words leave her mouth, and she glances at Tobias nervously, chewing her lip. Was she stupid for saying that? Yeah, she was.

But Tobias doesn’t seem mad about her statement. Startled, but not mad. “I- thank you,” He says quietly, looking down the aisle, away from her. She looks at the apple in her hand from every possible angle, before deeming it worthy of Tobias.

She presents it to him bashfully. “Here you go.”

He takes it from her, seeming amused at how her face is as red as the apple. “Thank you, Averi,” He says in a courteous tone and she feels her chest about to burst at the way he said her name. There’s a trace of affection in his voice now, nothing like the clipped way he was talking to her at first.

A burst of static overhead interrupts them as the store speakers go off. “Can miss Averi come to the front of the store please? Miss Averi? Your mom’s waiting for you.”

Averi’s eyes grow wide as she stares up at the speakers. She’d completely forgotten to get the stuff her mom was asking for. Mom’s probably really mad. She sees Tobias glance down the aisle again, before turning to look at her.

“Looks like your mom’s waiting for you at the front. Come on, I’ll take you to her.” He’s turning to walk away as he’s saying this, expecting Averi to follow.

“Can I hold your hand?” Averi asks suddenly, and then freezes as Tobias stops. He turns to look at her with a raised brow. Averi pushes her lip out and tries to look as pleading as possible. “I’m scared I’ll get lost from you.”

Tobias scoffs lightly. “You didn’t seem to have any trouble following me before.”

“Yeah, but… please?” She doesn’t want to admit that she just wants to hold his hand. Tobias doesn’t seem like he’s going to give in. 

“No,” he finally says. “Now come on, your mom’s waiting.” 

He turns his back to her again, and she blurts out, “I like you. And I don’t think I’ll ever get to see you again. Please?” She notices him stiffening, and feels needles in her chest, poking her insides. Why did she say that? Why the _crap_ did she just say that?

Tobias turns to look at her again, arctic blue eyes scanning her red face. Averi feels like she’s about to cry, and that’s probably what makes him give in. He stands there for a second, then two, then slowly reaches his hand out to her, softly sighing.

“All right. Come on.”

She smiles so hard her face hurts. Victory! She runs up to grab his hand, which easily engulfs hers, and the two of them start walking towards the front. She feels so happy she could hop up and down, although it’s weaved in with a little sadness. This man just seems so cool and mysterious, and this may be the last time she ever actually sees him.

“My sister’s birthday is next week. She’s turning eight,” Averi says without thinking, squeezing at Tobias’ hand. 

Tobias hums absently. “Tell her I said happy birthday.”

When they get to the front of the grocery store, Averi sees her mom standing at the register, with a teenage boy holding the speaker phone like he’s about to make another call. Her mom’s face lights up as she sees Averi, although it quickly stiffens when she notices the man holding her hand.

“Where were you?” she asks in a stern voice. “I looked up and down the aisles. I thought you ran out of the store.” Darn, she knew her mom was going to be angry. Tobias’ hand quickly lets go of hers as her mom walks over to them, and Averi feels a tug of sadness as its absence.

“Sorry,” She says to her mom, focusing on the floor. “I got distracted, but then this really nice guy helped me get back to you. His name’s Tobias.” She gestures a bit at Tobias, who’s standing there looking pretty tense, like he’d rather not be there.

“Tobias,” she says with another gesture at her mother, “this is my mom.”

Her mom smiles at Tobias, but her eyes don’t crinkle like they usually do when she smiles. “Thank you for bringing her up here, sir.”

“No problem,” Tobias says lightly. Averi feels confused at how stiff the two seem towards each other. Her mom’s usually pretty friendly to strangers, but her friendliness to Tobias seems… fake, or polished. Like she senses something about Tobias that Averi doesn’t.

Her mom grabs her hand, snapping her out of her thoughts. “C’mon Averi, we’ve got to go pick Mallory up.” She gives a brief nod at Tobias, then the worker. “Thank you again.” Her tugs on Averi’s hand becomes more insistent as she pulls Averi out of the store while also trying to steer the loaded grocery cart.

Averi starts frantically waving at Tobias with her free hand, smiling. “Bye, Tobias!” Tobias gives a small wave back, but doesn’t smile. In fact, she doesn’t think she’s seen him smile at all.

When they get to the car, her mom turns to her, looking her up and down. “Are you okay?” She suddenly asks, and Averi feels confused at the concern in her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“I don’t know,” her mom says absently, putting grocery bags into the car’s trunk, “that man just seemed… did he do or say anything to you that made you uncomfortable?”

Averi feels herself getting offended on Tobias’ behalf. “What?! No! He was nice to me, really!”

“Hmmm,” her mom replies, which could mean anything. “Okay. If you ever get lost again, find another woman. Or maybe a friendly-looking guy like a dad with his own kids. Just not… a guy like him.”

Averi pouts a bit. “His name’s Tobias.”

“I know, I know,” her mom says, but her tone says she doesn’t understand at all. “C’mon, your sister’s waiting. Help me unload these bags.”

Averi starts pulling the bags out of the cart, keeping her attention focused on the grocery store’s sliding doors. Maybe Tobias will walk out, and she can see him again. But once they get all the bags unloaded, nobody’s walked out besides an older couple and some loud teenagers. Averi’s hopes begin to fade as she steps into the car, staring at the doors and still hoping that he’ll walk out. She buckles herself in as her mom starts the car.

“You know, mom,” Averi says as they start to pull out of the parking lot, “I think my favorite color is blue now.”


	8. Honk, Honk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which 47 gets caught up at a kid's birthday party. Also he has to dress up as a clown because the power of prompt compels him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh my god, why is this so long. Also I'm sorry because I had no idea on how to end it.

Most of the kids have already made it to Mallory’s birthday party, with a few stragglers knocking on the door. Averi’s made it her duty to come greet everyone since her mom’s busy setting up the games, happily welcoming everyone in and pushing party hats into their hands. “Hey there! Party’s in the backyard!” She ushers the kids inside, smiling.

She pauses suddenly, staring at the car on the opposite side of the street. It’s a bright yellow car with flower paintings on the doors, ‘JOEY THE CLOWN’ pasted in red balloon font along the side. Her eyes grow huge. _The clown’s here!_

Averi makes sure to look both ways before she’s running across the street, eager to greet the clown stepping out of the car. But… Joey doesn’t really look like a clown. Like, aren’t clowns supposed to have face paint and overalls and big red noses? This guy doesn’t have any of that. He’s dressed all normal.

Joey’s back is still turned to Averi, doing something in the back seat that she can’t see. She feels a bit nervous all of a sudden, but she clears her throat a bit, and suddenly Joey freezes, which makes her freeze up as well.

“Um...excuse me...” She starts with a trace of nervousness winding around her insides.

‘Joey’ suddenly stands up and slams the door hard enough to make the car shake as he whips around to stare at Averi, looming over her. Averi’s eyes grow impossibly wide, her hands flying up to her mouth.

Then she squeals.

“Tobias!” She yells, hopping up and down, her voice echoing down the sidewalk. She’s so happy she feels like she could burst – there he is, standing right in front of her! The handsome man from the grocery store. God really answered her bedtime prayers.

The problem, however, is that Tobias doesn’t seem happy to see her back. Rather, he looks horrified, his faced drained of color and his mouth a thin line. He hasn’t moved an inch since she yelled his name.

“It’s me! It’s me! Remember?” Averi pushes her hands into her chest while beaming up at Tobias. “Averi! From the grocery store!” She makes a little twirl, feeling her dress swish around. “I’m wearing my favorite dress for Mallory’s birthday! Do you like it?”

Tobias’ face is still pale, but he slowly opens his mouth, pausing a bit before answering. “It’s lovely, Averi.”

Averi’s smile gets impossibly bigger. “Thank you! Wow, I can’t believe you’re a clown! I guess I never asked what your job was. But you don’t look like a clown. I mean, where’s your outfit?” She stands up on her toes a bit, trying to peer past Tobias into the car. Tobias quickly steps in front of the window.

“It’s… well, I don’t have it on yet,” Tobias says in a rushed voice. “Why don’t you run back into the house while I put it on?” She doesn’t recognize this tone of voice. It has a trace of panic in it, like he’s trying to hide something from her in the car.

This only makes Averi’s curiosity grow tenfold. “Why? Are you hiding something? Is it a surprise for Mallory?” She steps forward and Tobias suddenly grabs her by the shoulders, halting her from getting any closer. His hands don’t seem very steady.

“Yes,” He replies, “it’s a surprise for your sister. I might let you see it, but _only_ if you run back into the house and let me get changed first.” Averi pouts a bit, but decides not to argue. Instead, she brings her hand up with her fingers folded and only her pinky sticking up.

“Okay,” She says, “But you have to pinky promise me that you’ll show me the surprise. I won’t spoil it for Mallory, okay?” Her face is very serious, because a pinky promise is a very serious matter. You should never, _ever_ break a pinky promise.

Tobias seems to know this too, because his face is also very serious. He slowly reaches out and wraps his pinky around Averi’s, and he nods slightly. “I promise. Now, run back into the house. I’ll be there soon.”

Averi grins and nods back, before turning to skip back into the house, humming a song she can’t remember the name of. Meanwhile, 47 watches her go across the street with an unreadable expression. Now he doesn’t have much choice but to drive the ridiculous car away from Averi’s house and to a remote location to dump the body. The last thing he wants Averi to see is the _real_ Joey bleeding all over the backseat.

In his earpiece, Diana chirps up. “You know, it would be quite a shame if the children never got to see Joey the clown.”

47 furrows a brow. “Are you seriously suggesting that I dress up in his stead?”

Diana hums before replying. “Well, yes and no. But mostly yes. You wouldn’t want to disappoint Averi or her sister, would you? And if I recall correctly, Joey has a spare costume on the passenger side.”

47 closes his eyes for a few seconds, inhales deeply before saying, “I’m the last person you’d want to provide entertainment for children.”

“On the contrary,” Diana replies, “I think you’d be the first person children would want to to talk to. Imagine, a secret agent who works through a worldwide organization.” Her voice is brimming with amusement, and 47 is pretty sure that she just wants him to dress up partially for her own entertainment.

47 manages to keep himself from snorting. “Like I would ever tell a child my true profession.” He notices Averi peeking out through a window at him, and she waves before disappearing in a dash of blue. He chews on his lip, mostly out of frustration.

Finally he sighs, and glances around to see if there’s anyone nearby. The street’s deserted on both sides, it seems. He could probably put Joey in the trunk to avoid neighbors looking into the car windows, and then change into the spare costume fairly quickly.

He mutters to himself, “I hope you realize what you’re getting me into, Diana.” He’s opening up the trunk, pushing some stuff around to see if there’s enough room to fit a body. At least he won’t have to pull off the clothes of a dead clown to wear to a little girl’s birthday party. Did he really just have that thought?

“You made the right choice, 47,” Diana replies, and he can hear the wink in her voice. “Swipe a slice of cake while you’re there.”

* * *

In the backyard, Averi sees a few of Mallory’s friends talking to her mom. Stepping closer, Averi has to strain her ears over the sound of laughing and yelling to hear what mom’s saying. She catches snippets of “It’s already past five,” and “he should be here soon.” They nod a bit, looking glum until turning to run off, bee lining to where another parent’s setting up the piñata.

Mom’s looking down at her phone, frowning a bit before she starts dialing a number.

* * *

 In the front seat, Joey’s phone goes off, catching 47 by surprise as he’s wrestling himself into a pair of patched up overalls. He dives forward and grabs the phone, checking the name. ‘Janice Groves,’ the screen reads, and he hesitates a moment before answering. “Hello?”

“Hello there!” A female voice chirps on the other end, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s Averi’s mom. “This is Janice, Mallory’s mom. I was just wondering where you were.”

“Oh! Uuum,” 47 puts his friendliest voice on as he yanks on an oversized and obnoxiously red shoe. “Ms. Groves! I’m almost there, just having a bit of a…. wardrobe malfunction.” Which is putting it lightly.

“Aaaah, gotcha,” Ms. Groves replies. “Alright, I was just making sure you weren’t having any problems getting to the house.” 47 uses his shoulder to keep the phone against his ear as he starts to pull on a pair of clean white gloves, praying that he didn’t get any blood on the seat of his pants. He’s been doing his best to avoid the stains spotting the interior.

“Nope! No, in fact I just got here! Sorry about the delay.” He kicks the door open and stumbles out of the backseat, feeling completely graceless in the over-sized shoes. To his right, a man walking his dog stops and chuckles. 47 tries not to shoot a death glare at the man as he kicks the door shut behind him.

“Oh, it’s fine!” Ms. Groves replies on the other end. “Thank you for doing this. You know, Mallory’s always loved clowns. Ever since she was three,” she keeps talking as 47 tries to gather himself, putting the last piece of the clown costume on – a bright red nose. _Honk honk,_ he thinks dryly to himself before walking up to the front door.

“Alright, I’ll let you go,” Ms. Groves says brightly, “See you soon!” 47 replies in kind and hangs up, the sudden realization of his circumstances coming at him from left field. He’s about to entertain some kids at a birthday party. In his dead target’s outfit. At least he can cross _that_ off his bucket list.

47 knows he looks a sight in his patched up overalls and fluffy red wig - clown clothes never were his idea of good fashion. 47 hesitates a moment before rapping his knuckles on the door, growing nervous at the sound of muffled kids’ laughter behind it. And who would it be to answer the door other than Averi, who beams up at him, her eyes sparkling.

“Wow! Is that really your costume? You look so different!” She stares at him for a second before pointing up at his face. “Can I honk your nose?” 47 blinks at her before remembering that, yes, there _is_ a big red nose where his actual nose is. He’s already trying to forget that he is, in fact, wearing a clown costume.

47 leans down far enough to let Averi grab the nose and squeeze it. The squeak makes his ears ring as Averi laughs, then she grabs his hand and starts leading him through the house. “C’mon, the party’s in the back.”

47 can’t help but glance around as she leads him to the back door – a small living room with a few sleeping bags rolled up on the couch and an explosion of crafts on the coffee table, a cat curled up on a stray hoodie in the corner warily eyeing 47. There’s a cartoon playing on the TV with a blue cat talking to a goldfish. Strange.

The kitchen has a stack of dishes in the sink and a lone coffee cup on the table, and 47 can just read out the text on it. “World’s Okayest Mom” it says. Ms. Groves doesn’t seem to give herself enough credit.

Then Averi pushes the backdoor open and leads 47 out onto the porch. A quick look around the backyard tells 47 that he is definitely out of his element. There are kids running around everywhere, playing games, having fights, eating food that 47 figures is giving them some sort of sugar high.

Averi lets go of his hand to cup her hands around her mouth, and before 47 can stop her, she shouts, “Hey everyone! Tob-Joey’s here!” She sure is loud for such a small girl, 47 observes before he notices many of the kids stopping to look over at him.

Another second passes and then 47’s surrounded by children of all ages and heights, staring up at him, excitedly shouting and trying to get his attention.

“Wow, it’s Joey! You’re so tall!”

“Why’re you not smiling? You’re kind of a grumpy clown, huh?”

“Hey Joey, can I honk your nose?”

47’s face pales. Yep, he is _way_ out of his element.

He notices Ms. Groves glance up from where she’s stacking cups on a table, and she smiles before coming over to the group of kids swarming the agent. “Hey Joey!” She says, her voice filled with warmth as she reaches over the kids to shake his hand. “So glad you’re here!” She practically has to shout over all the kids vying to get 47’s attention.

47 shakes her hand and replies, “Likewise! So, where’s the birthday girl?” He makes an act of looking around for Mallory, not noticing the flash of jealousy on Averi’s face. Ms. Groves turns and nods over at a girl talking with some kids at a fold-up table littered with treats.

“She’s right over there, wearing the purple shirt.” Before 47 can wade his way through all the children, he feels a tiny hand grab his. Averi’s looking up at him, her eyes big and sparkling as she squeezes his hand with a surprising amount of strength.

“Are you going to show her the surprise? Can I see it first? You promised!”

47 frowns a bit before he suddenly remembers what she’s talking about. Oh, yes, the… surprise. He fishes around in his pocket, thinking about how Joey had a small present in one of the several patched-up pockets of his overalls.

Averi’s pulling him back inside the house. “C’mon, in here! So she can’t see us!”

Ms. Groves is calling the children over to another game, which thankfully distracts them away from 47 and Averi, as they stand near the back door. Averi brings her hands up to her face, grinning up at the agent. “So what is it?”

47 pulls out the little box, which has a purple bow on top of it. He leans down to where Averi can see as he slowly opens it up, knowing little as Averi did about what was in it. Much to both of their surprise, there’s a set of sparkling earrings inside, dark teal gemstones surrounded by smaller, white gemstones. Underneath the earrings, it reads, “Alexandrite,” in silver cursive, June’s birthstone.

“Wooooow,” Averi breathes out, her eyes sparkling like the gemstones. “Those are so pretty! Mallory’s going to love those!” 47’s wondering if their mom had given the money to Joey to buy these beforehand, so that he’ll have something to give to Mallory.

But then Averi’s tugging at his hand again, snapping him out of his muse. “She just got her ears pierced too, so she has a new set of earrings to wear! Let’s go give it to her!”

“Wait,” 47 says suddenly, making Averi pause as she glances up at him, curious. “Let’s not give her the surprise just yet. We’re going to wait until she’s opening up the rest of her presents.” Averi’s lips purse before she gives him a resolute nod. “You’re right! We’ll save it for the end.”

47 bends his knees so that he’s at Averi’s level. “Until then,” He says, half-whispering as he brings a finger to his lips, “You promise that you won’t tell your sister about her surprise. Okay? Our little secret.” If there’s one thing he knows about children, it’s that they love keeping secrets.

It turns out Averi is no exception as her eyes light up, and she brings a finger up to her own lips. “Okay,” she whispers back, smiling at 47, who can’t help but smile back, just a little.

They go back outside, where most of the kids seem preoccupied with the game that Ms. Groves set up. It looks like a classic game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, although some of the kids seem preoccupied with chasing their friends around with the tail, still blindfolded. That seems like a hazard.

Averi points over to her sister, watching the game. “Look, there’s Mallory! C’mon!” She’s running over to Mallory, leaving 47 without much choice but to follow. Mallory’s laughing at something one of her friends said, swatting him on the arm before Averi calls her name. She turns to see Averi standing next to 47, and her face scrunches up.

“Ugh,” she says with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I thought I told mom that I’m too old for clowns.” She makes a point of turning away from 47, much to Averi’s chagrin.

“Hey!” Averi shouts, grabbing at the leg of 47’s overalls. “Joey’s a really nice guy! Hey Joey, tell her a joke!” 47 freezes up a bit as some of the kids around them turn to look at the agent expectantly. The problem is, he doesn’t know any jokes, at least not any kid-friendly ones at the top of his head.

Diana, who’s been quiet the entire time, pipes up in his earpiece. “Don’t worry, 47,” She replies as he hears her typing something on her computer. “I have some pulled up that you can use.” She figures it’s the least she can do since she’s partly responsible for pulling him into this mess.

Mallory just huffs a bit, before going off to grab a tablet on one of the tables and start playing with it. She’s doing her best to ignore 47 and the other kids. “Too old for clowns,” He hears her mutter, and Averi just scowls at her.

Diana tells him one of the jokes as he prepares himself to speak in front of a crowd of kids.

“What does a pepper do when it’s mad?”

All of the kids seem to think about it, some harder than others, but then one kid pipes up. “I dunno. What does it do?”

There’s a beat before 47 replies. “It gets… _jalape_ _ñ_ _o_ face.” 

Averi busts out laughing and soon the other kids join in, even though some of them don’t seem like they’ve fully understood the joke. Once the laughter dies down, they’re giving 47 eager looks, like they’re waiting for another joke. Averi notices that Mallory’s listening in from where’s she’s playing on her tablet.

“All right, here’s another joke,” Diana says in his earpiece, “What do you call a sheep with no head and no legs?”

47 repeats this to the group of kids huddled around him, listening intently. But before Diana can give him the punchline, 47 answers with “dead.” There’s a moment of stunned silence as 47 suddenly realizes what he said.

Diana’s voice in his earpiece, sharp with shock. “What? No! 47-”

Averi’s already laughing again, as well as most of the kids, although some look frightened. “I’ve heard that joke before, but not with that punchline,” one of the older kids says. Another child steps up to 47 with wide eyes. “Why is it dead?”

Now 47 knows he’s messed up. He tries to think of an answer that won’t frighten the children. “Well, think about it,” he says. “Most animals can’t survive without a head. Legs, maybe. But not a head.”

“Oooh,” the kid replies, although the look on her face says that she didn’t find the joke funny. 47 feels guilt gnaw at his insides.

“I heard chickens can survive for up to three minutes with their heads cut off,” One kid says, and then another replies with, “Woah, that’s messed up.”

“I wonder how long humans survive,” One child says, morbid curiosity in her voice. _Not very long,_ 47 thinks to himself. _Unconsciousness occurs within 10 seconds, and irreversible brain damage after 3 to 6 minutes with no oxygen._

He’s even had firsthand experience of decapitating a target, although the first time was definitely an accident. Probably one of the most disturbing things he’d seen in his career.

Averi’s voice immediately snaps him out of his dark thoughts. “You wanna watch us hit the piñata?”

There’s already a group of kids surrounding the piñata, dangling off the tree at the end of the yard. One of the other parents is tying a blindfold around Mallory, who’s holding a bat with a big grin on her face. 47 doesn’t have time to reply, already being tugged by Averi into the circle of kids.

“Step back, kiddos.” The parent, a short bearded guy, waves the kids back before he starts to spin Mallory around in slow circles. “One!” The group of kids yells around 47, who’s feeling confused, wondering what they’re yelling for, “two!” The parent spins Mallory in another circle before grabbing her shoulders, facing the piñata. “Three!” The kids are screaming at this point, hopping up and down and yelling at Mallory, “Smack it, smack it!” Their tendency towards violence is concerning.

The parent lets go of Mallory’s shoulders, and Mallory promptly steps forward before swinging the bat against the poor piñata. She gets a few good hits in, but the piñata swings steadfast, refusing to spill its treats. Mallory pulls her blind off once her turn is over, huffing a bit.

The bearded parent smiles over at Averi. “You wanna go next, Averi?” Averi beams back. “Okay! But-” and she points up at 47. “I want him to spin me around!” Mallory hands the blindfold to Averi while giving 47 an annoyed look, like she’s still too grown up for clowns.

Averi passes the blindfold to 47, grinning at him. “Think I’ll be able to get it?” She turns around to let 47 tie the blindfold around her eyes, and he bends down to whisper at her, “You can, that is, if you aim for the stomach. Once I let go, walk straight for three steps and then hit upwards, hard as you can.” He’s noticed the small crack around the piñata’s stomach, which bore the brunt of Mallory’s hits. If Averi hits there, it should crack the piñata right open.

Nodding a bit, Averi furrows her brows, determined. 47 holds her shoulders and spins her around, one, two, three times. The kids are all yelling again, this time for Averi to wreck the piñata. Once the parent’s adjusted the piñata, he steps back, eyeballing 47 like he’s never seen a clown quite as… unenthusiastic as 47 is.

47 halts her just as she’s facing the piñata swaying gently in the breeze. She takes about three steps forward, just as 47 instructed, holds the bat above her head and then swings forward, hard.

CRACK!

She’s hit the piñata square in the stomach, causing the crack to get bigger. “Good hit, Averi!” One of the kids yells, and Averi gives an excited squeak as the piñata smacks against the tree with the force of her hit. She brings the bat up over her head again, listening intently at the squeaks of the piñata spinning around.

“A little to the right,” 47 yells to her over the din of kids, and Averi takes a small step right before swinging forward again. SMACK! Another hit on the stomach, and the crack grows bigger. One more hit should be all it takes.

Averi’s not mindlessly waving the bat around like a normal kid would. She’s taken 47’s advice seriously, holding the bat firmly in her hands as she listens for the sway of the piñata’s position. The piñata spins around in the air in a whirl of pink before it starts to slow again, and the kids are going wild.

“It’s right in front of you, Averi,” 47 yells, “give it all you’ve got.” Averi takes a deep breath, bringing her bat up and then hitting the piñata’s stomachwith all the strength her tiny body can muster, yelling.

THWACK!

The piñata’s stomach splits open, spilling a rainbow of candy onto the ground as the kids all yell in excitement before swarming to grab it. Averi stops and pulls the blindfold off, staring at the explosion of candy on the ground in shock before she beams at 47, who gives her a thumbs up.

“Aw, man,” one of the kids says, disappointed. “I was hoping to get a turn.”

“Who cares?” Another kid chimes back. “I just found a tootsie pop!”

They’re still hunting for candy as Averi runs up to 47, hugging him around the legs and smiling up at him. “I did it, I did it!” she says, and 47 pats her on the head, oddly proud of her. “Yes, you did,” He says, warmth in his voice. “Aren’t you going to get some candy?”

Averi glances over at the candy, as if suddenly remembering that it was there. “Oh, right!” She runs into the fray of kids as 47 hears someone approaching him. It’s Ms. Groves, smiling lightly at him.

“Averi really seems to like you,” she comments idly, watching the kids search for candy under the busted piñata. 47 doesn’t really know how to respond to that but she continues with, “Mallory, though… I’m sorry about the way she’s acting. I remember how much she used to love clowns.”

“It’s alright,” 47 says offhandedly. “Kids get older, and their tastes change. Does she like princesses?” He thinks about how those Disney princesses seem to be all the rage with little girls.

Ms. Groves hums a bit. “As much as the next kid, I suppose. But a lot of my friends recommended you because their kids loved having you around at their parties. You’re a popular guy.” Her smile falters as she looks at him, eyes squinting slightly as she scrutinizes him. “Hey, um… have we met somewhere before? You seem kind of familiar.”

47 feels sweat on his temples as he shrugs. “A lot of people say I look familiar to them. Must be the friendly face.” This actually makes Ms. Groves laugh, and the sound has a nice ring to it. “Right,” she says, “Buuut, I’m sure you’re a looker under that get-up.” Her smile’s back again, a little coquettish. 47 freezes.

Is… is Ms. Groves flirting with him? He covers up his shock with his own small smile. “Why thank you, Ms. Groves,” He says politely.

“Please, just call me Janice,” She replies, "calling me Ms. Groves makes me feel ten years older."

“My, 47,” Diana chimes in his earpiece, “looks like Joey the clown is quite the ladies’ man.”

Averi runs up to the pair, interrupting them with a handful of candy. “Look what I got!” Averi says excitedly, holding up the candy to 47 and her mom. “Pick whatever you like!”

“That’s sweet, Averi, but I’m already full from all the cake,” Janice says.

Averi turns to 47 with an expectant look, but 47 shakes his head as well. “Sorry, little lady. I’m on a special diet.”

Averi frowns. “What’s a diet?”

“It’s what you go on when you eat too much cake,” Janice says, laughing a bit at her own joke. “Maybe I should go on one.”

47 looks mildly appalled at her self-jab. “There’s nothing wrong with how you look, Ms. Gr – Janice.” He doesn’t know much about female figures, but he doesn’t see why Janice would need to go on a diet. She doesn’t look overweight.

Why are women seemingly obsessed with weight? He’s made this offhand comment to Diana once, who scoffed at him. “Perhaps you don’t understand because you exercise so much and your metabolism is through the roof, but for some people maintaining a healthy weight can be challenging, Mr. 47.” He knew better than to bring up the topic of her diet after that.

Janice grows flushed at his comment. “Thank you, Joey,” she says, “but I know you’re just flattering me.” He’s not sure why she saw it as a compliment, it was merely an observation.

Averi’s been watching their exchange with mounting concern, before she puts the candy on a nearby table and grabs 47’s hand. “C’mon Joey, the kids are all over there.” She’s tugging him towards the kids, seemingly jealous of the attention he’s giving to her mom. Janice just smiles as she watches Averi pull 47 away, who looks mildly stressed about how Averi doesn’t seem keen on ‘sharing’ him.

She pulls 47 into the circle of kids, chatting and digging into some birthday cake. A little girl comes running up to him. “Can you make balloon things?” She asks eagerly.

“Sure,” 47 says, pulling some balloons out of a random pocket, along with a tiny air pump. Joey seems to have everything in these pockets.

“What would you like?” He asks her, hoping she won’t ask for something too complicated. “A sword,” She says, putting 47 off-guard a bit. He was thinking she’d say something like ‘a cat’ or ‘a flower.’ But, well, swords are easy enough to make.

He blows up the balloon and makes her the sword as promised, watching her squeal excitedly as she waves it around, bopping another kid on the head. A little boy comes up to him next. “I’d like a sword too!”

By now there’s a small line of children waiting for him to make them balloon animals. 47 makes them to the best of his abilities, although the balloon dogs look way more like rabbits and the rabbits more like sausage links. The kids don’t seem to mind, though, at least the ones having sword fights.

“Hey, Joey,” one of the kids asks, “can you do any tricks?”

“Well,” 47 replies, digging around in his pockets some more, thinking about some card tricks that he knows. There must be a stack of cards in here somewhere.

Another kid comes up. “I wanna see you juggle!” 47 pauses, and raises a brow. Juggling, huh? He starts digging around for some balls instead, but the kid suddenly says, “But, like, can you juggle with knives? Like how they do at the circus?”

47 pauses again. _Knives?_ Did he hear this kid correctly?

He puts on a cheery facade, wondering about these kids’ obsessions with sharp, pointy things. “Sure! But I need to find some first. Joey doesn’t keep knives in his pockets. You know, for safety reasons.”

Averi’s disappeared from his side, but as he turns to look for her she’s suddenly standing in front of him, holding up three kitchen knives in her small hands.

“Here you go!” She must’ve run into the house and grabbed them from the kitchen.

47 takes them from her with no small amount of concern. “Thank you Averi,” He starts slowly, “but you should _never_ run with sharp things. You could get hurt.” He can’t believe that he’s telling a child to be careful around knives, when he himself knew how to throw knives at her age.

Averi’s face falls, pink with embarrassment. “Sorry,” she murmurs, looking down and tracing a circle in the grass with her foot.

“It’s alright,” 47 replies, stepping back from her, “just remember that.” He looks at the knives in his hands, then at the kids. He’s juggled before, as part of one of his disguises, but it wasn’t with things quite this...sharp. He’s not so much concerned about his own well-being as he is about hurting one of the kids on accident.

But the group of kids watching him seem eager for a show, so 47 slowly starts to juggle the knives, watching their faces light up, fascinated.

“He’s doing it, he’s really doing it,” One of the kids murmur, and he can see Mallory watching wide-eyed among them. 47’s always been grateful for his keen hand-eye coordination, which is definitely coming in handy at this moment.

He glances over at the broken, abandoned piñata dangling from the tree branch, and gets an idea.

“Check this out,” he says, grabbing one of the knives mid-air before throwing it at the piñata, pinning it against the tree with deadly accuracy. The kids all gasp.

“Woooooow! That was so cool!” Averi says, her hands flying up to her face. 47 twirls one of the knives in his hand with ease, feeling confident in his element.

“You think so?” he asks. The adults don’t seemed to have noticed this little act yet, otherwise they probably would’ve stopped this.

Mallory suddenly pipes up. “Yeah, yeah! Hey, could you hit that donkey too?” She points over at the picture of the donkey, pinned against the fence behind the tree. 47 flips the knife up, aims and then sends it slicing through the picture. The kids gasp again, louder this time.

Now they’re yelling in excitement, telling 47 what to aim for with the last knife. The tree! The bird house! Mr. Williams’ rear end! 47 automatically objects to the last one.

“Wait!” Averi says suddenly, pointing at a balloon tied to one of the tables. “What about that balloon?”

47 raises a brow. It’s an easy target for sure. Problem is, the bearded guy is standing next to the table on his phone, and the last thing 47 wants to do is give him a heart attack to go with that birthday cake. But there’s already some kids pushing the parent away, trying to clear the space. The bearded guy is asking them what’s going on.

“Joey’s gonna show us a trick!” One of the kids says excitedly, and before the guy can ask one kind of trick, 47 aims and throws, popping the balloon as the kids cheer loudly. “He did it! Wow!” Some of the kids are already running to grab the knives, bringing them back to 47. “Again! Again!”

47 takes the knives, but then sees Janice come running up. “What’s going on?” she asks, staring pointedly at 47.

47’s mouth becomes a flat line as one of the kids yells, “He’s showing us some knife tricks!”

Janice’s mouth hangs open in shock, then she clamps it shut again. “Knife tricks,” she says flatly, folding her arms at 47. “I don’t think so.”

“But they’re really cool!” one of the kids protests.

Janice’s frown gets bigger. “I don’t care if they’re cool,” she says, “knives are dangerous. Joey, what were you thinking?” She asks him, anger lining her words. 47’s wondering if this is what sheepishness feels like.

“I apologize, Ms. Groves,” He says, holding the knives out to her, “I substituted them for juggling, and it seems to have gotten out of hand. I believe these are yours.”

Janice takes the knives from him slowly, and looks like she’s about to say something else, but then Mallory runs up. “Mom,” she says. “Joey only did it because Matthew wanted him to. But you should’ve seen how well he threw them! It was really cool.” Both Averi and 47 stare at Mallory in shock, not having expected her to defend Joey the clown. Janice seems shocked as well.

“Clowns are supposed to entertain kids, right? Well, we’re all entertained,” Mallory says, waving her arm at the kids, who start frantically nodding. Janice opens her mouth but then shuts it again, looking defeated.

“Alright,” She finally says, “but no more knife tricks, okay? Mr. Williams almost stepped on one of the knives.” She gives 47 a look of disbelief mixed with awe before shaking her head, taking the knives into the house. Mallory comes up to 47, smiling up at him shyly.

“Sorry about what I said earlier,” She says. “You’re actually a pretty cool guy, you know? I don’t think I’ve ever met a clown who juggled knives like that.” 47 thinks to himself, _that’s probably a good thing._

“No worries, miss Mallory,” he says to her. “And happy birthday.” Mallory’s smile gets bigger and then 47 suddenly remembers the small present in his pocket. He bends down as he pulls it out of his pocket.

Averi gasps beside him. “Are you giving her the surprise?”

Mallory’s eyes get big. “Surprise? What surprise?” She takes the box from 47, staring at it in wonder before she opens it. She gasps, her eyes lighting up at the gemstones sparkling. “Wow! These are so pretty! Thank you Joey!” Then she throws her arms around 47 in a tight hug.

47 freezes. He can’t remember the last time anyone’s hugged him. It feels… nice. He pats Mallory’s back and then she pulls away, grinning. “I’m gonna go show these to Kat!” She’s already running off as 47 stands back up, and he watches her chat excitedly with her friends, feeling a tug of warmth in his chest. Kids are loud, and kind of strange. But he honestly doesn’t mind being around them.

“You know,” He suddenly hears Janice say beside him, “You’ve already been here for three hours. You only had to stay for two.” He glances over at Janice, who’s watching Mallory show off her presents to the other kids. He can’t read her expression.

Janice suddenly says, “Your methods for entertaining are… questionable, but the kids really do seem to like you. And Mallory’s warmed up to you too. So,” She turns to him, fishing her wallet out of her purse. “Let me pay you for the overtime.”

47 brings his hand up, stopping her from pulling any money out. “There’s no need. Think of it as complimentary.”

Janice raises a brow at him. Then she smiles a bit. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he says, bringing his hand down to ruffle Averi’s hair, who beams up at him. “But if it’s alright, I should really get going. I’ve got another party tomorrow.” Janice nods, understanding but also a little hesitant as she looks down at Averi, who’s hugging his leg with a frown.

“Sure. I’ll show you to the door.”

“Wait!” Averi says suddenly, surprising both of them. “I can take him. Please?”

Janice looks at Averi, who stares back at her with round, glossy eyes. Her hold on 47’s pants leg is so tight it’s sure to leave wrinkles. Janice isn’t sure why Averi seems so attached to Joey, but who is she to judge? She flirted with him not even an hour ago.

She sighs a bit, trying not to overthink her daughter’s strange behavior. “Alright, Averi. It’s time to wrap this party up anyway.”

Averi grins at her acceptance as she leads 47 back through the house and to the front door, where she turns to look up at him with a tight frown. “Well,” She says, sounding defeated, “I guess this is goodbye.”

“I guess so,” 47 replies, wondering when she’s going to let go of his hand. She finally does, but then reaches her arms up to him, a sad look on her face. “Can I have a hug?”

47’s a bit taken aback by her request. Another hug, so soon? Kids sure are touchy. But he doesn’t have it in him to say no, so he leans down and lets her wrap her arms around his neck, squishing her cheek against his.

“Do you think we’ll see each other again?” She asks, her voice muffled into his collar. He feels something warm and wet against his face. Is she… crying?? He pulls back and sure enough, there are little tear tracks on her face as she sniffles at him.

“We just might,” 47 replies, not wanting to guarantee anything. He still can’t believe how he managed to cross paths with this kid in such strange circumstances, but fate’s got a weird way of throwing people together whenever it feels like it. He pats Averi's shoulder and starts to stand up, but she dives forward and wraps her arms around him again, hugging him tightly.

She pulls away almost as quickly. “Sorry. I’m gonna miss you.” Then she reaches out and honks his nose, giggling at the look on his face. 47 pulls the nose off and puts it in her hand. “Here. Something to remember me by.” She stares down at it a bit in wonder, squeaks it a few times, loud enough to wake up the cat, who gives an annoyed meow from its napping spot on the couch.

47 winces. “Just… try not to do that around your mother too much.” Averi grins at him, tucking it into the little pocket of her sky-blue dress. Her eyes light up. “Wait! I’ve got something for you too!”

She’s already running down the hallway before 47 can say anything, and he can hear the sound of her digging around in some drawers. She comes running down the hallway, her hands balled up together like she's trying to hide it.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hand,” She says, smiling broadly at him. 47 frowns. “Why?”

Averi huffs. “Just do it!” 47 blinks once, twice, then shuts his eyes. “Now hold out your hand,” Averi’s voice says to him, and 47 does so, slowly. He feels her small hands place something soft in the center of his palm, as he waits for her to say, “Okay, now open them.”

He opens his eyes and stares down curiously at the little needle felt rabbit in his hand. Its black beady eyes are a little lopsided, and one of its ears is bigger than the other. It even has a tiny carrot.

“Mom showed me how to make it,” Averi says, “I’m really happy about how it turned out. Bunnies are my favorite animals.” Her grins turns shy as she stares up at him, waiting for his response. 47 feels something spark in his chest at the little rabbit, and when he looks at Averi, his smile is genuine.

“Rabbits are my favorite, too.” 

* * *

47’s standing by the car, driven out to an isolated section of the county, thinking about the nearest town to walk to. He doesn’t have much choice but to set the car on fire, and destroy any possible evidence. The crime scene had gotten a lot messier once he decided to play dress-up.

“Good job as always, 47,” Diana says in his earpiece as he’s trudging his way up the road, dressed back in his normal attire. It’s nighttime, and the road’s nearly pitch black, with the odd light being given off by the moon. The closest town is about five miles south, and it shouldn’t take him too long to reach it.

“I think that may be the last time I listen to your advice about providing entertainment,” 47 answers back, but there’s no bite in it. He can hear Diana’s smile as she replies, “Come now, you weren’t that bothered by it. And Averi was delighted to see you again.”

47 spots a car coming down the road. It wouldn’t be a good idea for him to hitchhike, not being too far from the burning car. Even though it’s out of sight from the road, if the driver hears about the incident next morning, he could very well be compromised.

So he steps to the side and lets it pass, bright headlights flashing by the tree he’s stood behind. “I’ll let you get back to your hike,” Diana says in his earpiece. “Good night, Mr. 47.”

“You as well.” 47 takes off his earpiece and pushes it into his pocket, feeling his hand brush against the little felt rabbit Averi gave him. She’s probably in bed by now, tired from helping her mom clean up the backyard.

He still doesn’t know what it was that made Averi so eager to be around him; he doesn’t consider himself to have a particularly friendly face, and he lacks the things that normally draw kids in - namely, approachability. But if he’s learned anything from his time at the birthday party, it’s that kids like the weirdest things -and Averi decided to like him.

He can only hope that her tendency to gravitate to dangerous people won’t put her in trouble in the future.


	9. 47/Diana (Matchmakers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana and 47 can't seem to say what needs to be spoken. So Lucas and Olivia decide to help them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Busts through the door, staggers to the table and slams fists down on it* SORRY ABOUT TAKING FOREVER ON AN UPDATE GUYS. I've been interning for a position in IT and got super distracted sorry sorry sorry- On another note, I have a good portion of the Yandere Diana fic written out, I'm just trying to figure out how to finish it. I ended up punching this one out instead in a stroke of passion. Hope you guys like it.
> 
> Also, Happy 4th of July to my fellow 'Mericans!!

“Charming, aren’t they?”

Olivia’s head darts up from where she’s scrolling on her laptop, focusing on Lucas with a slightly quizzical look. Lucas gives her a slow smile in return as he tilts his head to where Diana and 47 are, on the other side of the small living room. “Those two, I mean.” His voice has a trace of amusement in it that Olivia’s quickly warming up to.

She smiles back, looking over at the other two sitting next to each other; they haven’t exchanged many words since they sat down, simply enjoying each others’ company. This is the most relaxed she’s ever seen 47, his face not hard like it normally is as he cradles a cup of tea in his hands. His leg is just brushing Diana’s as the handler tilts her head to exchange a private word with him, her posture also relaxed. 47 glances over to Diana at the sound of her voice, catching her eye; they hold contact for a second before looking away abruptly, his posture tensing as Diana smiles lightly to herself.

Olivia doesn’t pride herself on reading people, taking her expertise to reading computers instead; but it doesn’t take an expert to see the affection between Diana and 47, hanging in the air with a tangible spark.

They’re very obviously smitten with each other, and time in the close quarters of their hideout has only strengthened that bond. The times 47 doesn’t spend by himself, he shares them with Diana, who doesn’t mind his attention the least bit, if the flush in her cheeks says anything.

“You’re right,” she affirms quietly, straightening her back to stretch a bit. “How long do you think they’ve known each other?” She questions as her eyes stay focused on the couple, leaning towards each other but also holding back, like they’re afraid of something.

“A long time, that’s for sure,” Lucas answers in a low voice, “47 doesn’t place his trust in just anybody.” He turns his gaze back to Olivia, mischief lining his words.

“How about we… assist them? What say you?” Olivia’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.

“You really want us to play matchmaker?” Her voice is flat, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t absolutely love that idea. Seeing a top-grade assassin, a man with more hits than the Beatles, fumble around his close lady friend is, in itself, strangely adorable.

Lucas raises a brow in reply. “Well, why not? There isn’t much else to do in here. We still have a decent amount of time before the Ark Society meets… it shouldn’t take more than a good push in the right direction.”

Hearing a shuffle on the couch, Olivia looks back over to see 47’s stood up abruptly, clearing his throat as he heads towards the kitchen, his long legs at a brisk pace; Diana’s staring at his retreating figure almost… wistfully. Like she’d come close to making him admit something but 47’s scared himself off before he could act on it. As much affection as there is between them, there is also a lot of frustration.

Olivia doesn’t give herself too much time to ponder on it; she turns back to Lucas and nods her head resolutely, a grin slowly growing on her face. “Right. Let’s get those two together.”

Lucas grins back. “That’s what I like to hear.” He brings a calloused hand across the table towards Olivia, where she grasps it and gives it a firm shake. The next words leave Olivia in an excited whisper before she can stop them.

“Let the operation Adorkables commence!” This time both of Lucas’ eyebrows are raised, his handshake faltering. Olivia’s grin turns sheepish. “Sorry… does that sound stupid?”

There’s another pause before Lucas squeezes her hand, his eyes warm. “No. It sounds spot-on.”

 

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile, on the couch, Diana sits pondering. 47 was about to say something to her, something incriminating about his feelings. She could feel it in the way his shoulders tensed and his eyebrows knitted together. He leaned towards her like he was about to share a secret… but then moved away from her like he’d been forcing himself to get up, and gain some distance between them. He was so close she could smell the tea on his breath, feel the warmth of it brushing her face.

He’s scared. Scared of the way Diana’s touch lights nerves under his skin and warms it like a summer day. He’s not used to these sorts of feelings, these feelings that are much more raw than the apathy and annoyance he feels on a normal basis. She knows that’s how he feels, because she feels it as well.

And as annoying as it is to see him scared off time and time again, Diana doesn’t know if she’ll be able to address… whatever it is that hangs so thickly between them. If she’ll be the one to close the distance to those hard lips and lose herself in his hands and warmth and sharp, clean smell that makes her think of a winter forest.

She doesn’t know if she can bring herself to do it, because she’s scared too.

Dammit. Diana doesn’t like this either. In fact, probably even less than 47. She stands up from the couch as well, striding briskly to her bedroom. She gives a brief nod to Lucas and Olivia as she passes them, but then she pauses. There’s something… off about those two. The way they grin back at her like they’re up to something.

But she decides not to question them. Let them plot whatever they’d like. At the moment, she could really use some sort of distraction like a book to read.

In the kitchen, 47 washes his cup with a bit too much force and breaks the handle. He curses quietly, staring down at the snapped ceramic handle before tossing it into the trash without another thought. “Did something break, 47?” Lucas’ voice echoes to him from the living room. Just like Lucas’ keen ears to pick up on that.

“Yes, just the cup,” 47 replies in a crisp voice. He can still feel where Diana’s touched his shoulder, and absently brings a hand to rub over it. There’s a pause before Lucas replies lightly, “It’s not like you to be so clumsy.”

47 grits his teeth, already on edge. He’d been so close to Diana, so ready to touch the lips that he’d been thinking about far too much. She looks so lovely with the pink tinting her face like that. But he didn’t do it. He doesn’t know what he’d do if Diana had moved away from his touch, answering his kiss with a pointed glare.

“47, what are you doing?! This sort of relationship between colleagues is inappropriate.” There’d be shock and disgust in her voice, and she’d leave him feeling like a scolded child.

Inappropriate. It’s the perfect way to describe how he feels about Diana. There’s nothing distant about it, nothing professional in the slightest. He’s let himself fall head-over-heels for this woman, and it terrifies him.

Lucas’ voice again, breaking his thoughts. “Are you nervous about something?” 47 looks down at the steady stream of water he hasn’t turned off yet, his eyes narrowing. Then he realizes that Lucas is standing next to him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. 47 reaches out and squeaks the handle, turning off the water.

He gives Lucas an annoyed look. “What makes you think that?”

Lucas gives a half-shrug, moving away from the counter to slowly walk around his brother. “Come now, you don’t have to lie,” he replies lightly, taking note of the way 47’s tense all over. “It doesn’t have anything to do with Diana, does it?”

47 whips his head over at the suggestion, his eyes flashing. “Don’t concern yourself with that,” He answers curtly, turning to make haste away from the other clone as Lucas simply smiles at his back, before calmly following the agent.

47’s walking towards the hallway where he can see Olivia standing next to Diana, trying to reach something in an open closet. Whatever she needs seems far from her reach as she strains on her toes before turning with a light huff to the handler. “Hold on, I think we have a stepladder in the kitchen.”

But then Olivia sees 47 and her eyes light up as her voice becomes sing-song. “Unless 47’s willing to grab it for me.” Diana glances over at 47 before her face stiffens and she looks away.

The agent stands before the two, a trace of wariness in his tone. “What do you need exactly?” Olivia nods at something hiding on the top shelf. “The charger for my laptop died and there’s an extra cable on the top shelf. Could you be a gentleman and grab it for me?”

47 narrows his eyes. “Why do you have an extra charger on the top shelf when there’s no way for you to reach it?”

Olivia huffs a bit, crossing her arms. “Lucas put it there for me! There’s not a whole lot of space in this hideout, if you can’t tell, so we decided to put away the stuff we didn’t need. Could you just get it for me, please?” Diana looks between the two of them throughout the exchange, her brow raised. It seems strange that Olivia would call her to the closet when she herself is too short to grab the cable.

And why is Lucas standing behind 47 with that look on his face? What exactly are he and Olivia plotting?

Diana purses her lips as 47 steps beside her without another word, and Olivia quickly steps back to give him room. 47’s craning his neck up and he reaches for the top shelf, and Diana stiffens as she watches the way his muscles flex under his button-up as he fishes for the extra cable. She’s standing close enough to where she can feel his heat, making her swallow as she finds herself rooted in place.

47’s brow knits slightly as his hand finds nothing. “I don’t think your charger’s-”

Suddenly, Diana feels herself getting shoved into the small closet, her eyes growing huge as she turns just before her back hits the wall. There’s a surprised grunt from 47 as he’s taken off-balance as well, shoved into the closet by Lucas and catching himself just in time to keep from slamming into Diana, his hands bracing the wall on each side of her head.

Then the closet door slams shut as the two find themselves in complete darkness.

What-- what just happened?!

Diana feels 47’s breath fan her lips in hot gusts, and her heart begins to gallop in her chest. His chest is pushed lightly against hers, and even in the dark she can feel the burn of his arctic-blue eyes on her flushed face.

That only lasts for a second, though, before the heat is gone and 47’s frantically jiggling the knob to find that they’ve been locked in. He slams a fist against the door, loudly enough to make Diana flinch. There’s a muffled giggle from Olivia on the other side.

47 growls in the dark, “Let us out. Now.”

“I’m afraid we’re unable to do that,” Lucas answers in kind, “The door’s been stuck fast. It may be some time before we can unlock it.”

“Lucas-” and 47’s voice has a trace of desperation in it that Diana’s never heard before, “if you had any sense of self-preservation, you’d open this door _right now_.” Diana squints hard, and she can see the broad outline of 47’s back turned to her, his hand still clenched against the door.

“Did you not hear him?” Olivia’s voice sounds like she’s about to start laughing, “he says the doorknob’s stuck. We’ll go look for something to get it unstuck. In the meantime, you dorks hang tight.”

Now Lucas sounds like he’s trying to contain a chuckle. “Why don’t you two have a nice chat? There’s no harm in getting _better acquainted_.” 47’s dark figure stiffens. Diana’s voice comes out sharper than she intended as her hands clench at her sides.

“I can’t believe you two,” she says suddenly past 47’s shoulder, “locking us in here like this is- like we’re in grade school. This is unbelievably immature.”

Olivia’s voice is already growing distant as she and Lucas begin to walk away. “Oh, _we’re_ the immature ones. At least kids can admit their feelings for someone they like.”

Ouch. Was it that obvious?

47’s hand un-clenches and slowly slides down the wood. His shoulders are still tense. Diana reaches out and gently touches his arm. “47-”

He jolts suddenly at her touch, whipping around to stare down at her, chilling her slightly with just how imposing he can be without even trying. Now that her eyes have adjusted, she can see how stiff 47’s face is.

His voice comes out low. “Perhaps we can knock this door down with enough force.”

“47-”

“I’ll need you to stand aside so I’ll have space to gain momentum.”

“47-”

“Be quiet. I need to concentrate-”

“47!”

Her voice comes out loud, making 47 pause in his rambling. Diana glares up at him, trying to cross her arms without pushing against 47’s chest. “Is it really so terrible to be stuck in here with me?” She tries to hide the hurt in her voice, making it come out cold and crisp instead.

In the dark, 47’s shoulders relax a bit, his voice losing its frantic edge. “No. I suppose it isn’t.” There’s a few seconds of uneasiness that seem to tick by into forever, before Diana’s voice breaks the silence.

“I think both you and I know what this is about, really.”

47 opens his mouth, pauses, and when he answers her he sounds almost defeated. “Diana… this thing between us… it’s dangerous to foster these sorts of feelings.” Diana swallows the lump in her throat so that it settles in her stomach instead.

She replies in kind, her voice growing calm. “Any more dangerous than it is for us to be here together, right now, operating outside of ICA’s policies?” They’re already breaking rules, what point is there in protecting what’s left?

47 seems to understand this. He steps closer to Diana, making her stare up at him as her chest brushes against 47’s. She can feel the warmth of his breath again, and the knot in her stomach tightens. “How long has it been this way?” He asks her quietly, his voice shivering in the air around them.

Diana smiles wryly up at 47. “As long as I can remember.” It’s finally out there, in the open. And all it took was some plotting allies and a dark closet space to lay out twenty years of unspoken feelings.

Suddenly, she feels something warm touching her cheek. 47’s calloused hand brushes a strand of hair away from her face, and it has a sort of gentleness to it that she didn’t know the agent was capable of. The dark doesn’t seem to do much to hide just how bright and intensely blue his eyes are, looking into hers like he’s trying to find answers.

“Come, now, 47,” she gently whispers, “there doesn’t have to be an answer for everything. So stop trying to look for one.”

Then he’s pushing her against the wall, his lips pressing against hers and swallowing her small noise of surprise. They move against hers timidly at first, until she wraps her arms around his back and pushes him in closer, and oh god, the gasp he makes against her lips is something she knows she’ll hear in her sleep.

Their kissing moves from frantic gentle brushes to slow, deep suctiony-like purrs that makes heat blossom in Diana’s lower stomach. 47’s obviously inexperienced in kissing, but he’s a quick learner, biting on Diana’s lower lip and making her moan louder than she means to.

Her hands run over his broad back and down his arms, feeling the muscles flex under her touch as he keeps her pressed firmly against the wall. The strength and steadiness of his touch steals her breath as she feels the heat in her core grow into something unbearable. She needs to feel more of him, as her hands move up his chest to undo the buttons of his shirt.

She undoes the first few buttons and splays her hand over his chest, feeling his heart pounding under her palm. 47’s lips have started making a trail of fire down her neck as his hands run up underneath her skirt, thumbs rubbing gently over the warm, pliant skin.

“How far do you want this to go?” He whispers against her neck, his voice low and husky. It’s also a bit shaky, like he’s still nervous about all of this. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous as well. But she’s too overwhelmed in his heat and scent and touch to say anything other than, “As far as we can.”

 

* * *

 

Outside the door, Lucas and Olivia hear the noises of their lovemaking and give each other knowing looks. “Well, that was much easier than I thought,” Olivia says to Lucas as they decide to give the two their privacy, walking back towards the living room. “How long do you think we should keep them in there?”

“The door’s already unlocked,” Lucas answers her. “It just may be some time before they’re ready to leave.”

Olivia smirks, finger-gunning at him. “Operation Adorkables complete. You were right, you know.”

Lucas gives her a quizzical look before he realizes what she means and smiles back. “All it took was a good push in the right direction.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it seems a bit rushed. I just really wanted to write something warm and fuzzy, and well, Yandere Diana isn't exactly warm and fuzzy. But that chapter should be coming next. Thanks for all the reviews and kudos!!


	10. 47/Diana (Yandere Diana)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You need to learn a lesson, love." Yandere Diana/47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter got... a lot more extreme than I'd anticipated. It's got torture in it, a warning for anyone who's squeamish. Have fun.

There are two things 47 notices when he first wakes up.

The first is the cold air licking against his skin, chilling the sweat that slowly dries over old scars, making him shiver subtly as he tries to blink away the spots in his eyes. His blazer is gone, along with his shirt and tie, their whereabouts a mystery.

The second was that he can't move.

Both of his arms are tied up by rope that chafes his wrists as he tests them with a harsh tug that makes the bedpost creak in protest. He pauses, flitting his gaze around the darkness before he sees a familiar figure emerge from it.

“Sleep well?” Diana asks. She stops at the foot of the bed, gazing at 47 with empty eyes, admiring her work. It makes 47 think of those senseless fears he had as a child, worried of something, a monster, grabbing his feet and dragging him under the bed. Not so senseless now that it seems a very real thing.

47 glowers back. “I might've slept better without all this,” he emphasizes 'this' with another pull on the ropes, feeling them bite into his skin. The ropes have been tied tighter than tight, to where even 47's nimble fingers won't be able to undo them. This isn't her first time tying someone up.

Diana chuckles lightly, making a slow circle around the bed as her eyes stay on 47's. “Let's just say that the rope is there for... assurance.” She stops to hover at the side of the bed, taking her time to look down at him, and her eyes have gone...hungry. Like they're trying to eat into 47's skin and seep poison into his pores.

47's voice goes flat in reply. “Assurance.”

“Yes,” Diana states simply. Then the bed dips under her weight as she slides onto it, slinking over to straddle the agent in one fluid movement. She has that smile again, the one 47 hates so much. The one that says this is going to be a long night.

47 finds his voice again. “If this is about that girl in Toulouse-”

“Don't,” Diana cuts him off in a gritted-teeth whisper, “talk about that bitch.” She brings up her hand, tracing invisible lines over and down past his collarbone, stopping just above his navel. 47 has plenty of scars telling of his work, littering his body like a macabre storybook.

“All this skin,” Diana starts slowly, flattening her hand over 47's steady heartbeat, “should never been seen by anyone other than me.” She leans down slowly, her breath fanning 47's face in hot, dangerous bursts. “You know that, right, darling?” All he can see is the warning in her eyes.

“Diana-” and that's all 47 can say before Diana's lips are pushing against his in earnest, making the mattress creak with how hard she pushes 47 back against the bedpost. Their kiss is all teeth, not so much a kiss as it is a battle of wills with all the grace and tact of a bar fight. 47's trying to turn his face away, which only serves to anger Diana.

She bites down hard enough to draw blood, tearing a grunt of pain from 47 as she flattens her tongue over the wound and slowly licks at the trickle of blood. 47's heart starts to race as she brings her face up, a violent red painting her lips as her eyes grow dark.

All this over a girl he'd seduced in Toulouse. All this for information that he needed on his target, that the secretary seemed happy to provide with the right sort of coaxing. He should've known Diana wouldn't like that, if the way she'd gone silent in his earpiece gave any indication.

He already knows that the secretary has found her fate at the bottom of a staircase, a broken neck, a morbid accident. Diana has her own manner of taking care of others that get in her way.

“Do you have anything to say about what you did?” Diana's voice, hushed in the dark, like an omen. She's looking down at him, her tongue idly darting at the blood spotting her chin. 47 takes a deep breath to loosen the nerves in his stomach.

“You of all people should know that what I did was a means to an end, Diana. It doesn't matter how I get the information as long as I get it discreetly.”

Diana gives a low, humorless chuckle in reply before 47 sees something glint in her hand, and his blood chills. “That's where you're wrong, love.”

She brings up the knife, flashing silver against the only source of lighting in the room. It's a small, delicately made knife, one that he already knows cost way too much. Of course she wouldn't use a regular kitchen knife on him, her, art piece, so to speak.

“I think,” Diana starts slowly, “the only way to make you realize is to mark you.” She looks down at him, excitement flashing in her eyes like she doesn't know where to start carving into his skin. She twirls the knife a bit too expertly in her grasp as she contemplates, and 47's quickly starting to lose the words it'll take to make her realize that this is not a good idea.

“Please,” he says to her, quietly, solemnly, “Diana, you shouldn't-”

She quickly brings the knife to nip at his throat. “Shut. Up.” She pricks into the skin, a whisper of movement just enough to bring a drop of blood trickling over the metal. She's sharpened the knife nearly to the edge of a scalpel. If 47 were a lesser man, he would've flinched, and possibly cut himself further.

“Good, love,” she says to him privately, “if you stay still like this, I won't have to make any unnecessary cuts. I heard that if the blade is sharp enough, you won't feel anything at first.” Her voice is saccharine, twisting 47's stomach and making new sweat break over his exposed chest.

“Although, perhaps I should hurt you, the way you've done to me.” There's that deep-set anger in her words again, cold as the knife in her hand. She lowers it slowly, and then draws a careful line starting from under his left pectoral over his ribcage, and then upwards in a v-shape from his navel, just deep enough to make blood bead to the surface.

It takes a moment for his body to notice it's bleeding, as the dull, familiar ache settles under his skin, throbbing under the cut. 47 only realizes it's about to get much worse. His breath catches in his throat before he grits his teeth, unconsciously shying away from the knife as she brings it closer.

She only smiles a bit. And then the knife is gliding over his skin again, like she's writing things into it that only she knows. It feels more like a razor this time, like she's purposely cutting in deeper, drawing red lines over his pale skin that burn and ache at the same time.

He twists under her touch, hissing as she decorates him with crimson drawings that trickle down to stain the bed sheets a rust color. Her cuts aren't senseless; there's a pattern to them, although 47 can't see that because his entire chest is a bloody mess. There's a moment where she stops, and 47 tries to catch his breath only to hear the clink of his belt as she undoes his pants and unceremoniously yanks them down.

The stale air of the room chills his newly exposed flesh, and 47 is suddenly, brutally reminded of how vulnerable he is under this woman.

She draws the knife down lower, closer to his groin.

His voice comes out as a husky plea. “Diana, _Diana please_ -” and then she quickly brings the knife to dig into his thigh, the searing pain flaring down his spine as he arches up, crying out something that neither of them hear. He's shaking all over but his skin is on fire.

His nails cut into his palms as Diana brings the knife down again, drawing more red. 47 can smell his own blood thickening the air, the sickly copper smell, and he feels dizzy. Diana inhales deeply like she can't get enough of it; she smiles down at him again.

“You're beautiful,” She says to him, “So beautiful like this.” 47's reply is a hitched groan as she traces a line dangerously close to his manhood. There's enough blood to make a small puddle underneath him, and 47 feels his mind going numb. She continues her careful tracing, drawing over scars old and new, soaking in the small, desperate groans of the agent.

47 manages to make himself look down and his stomach churns at the webbing of red all over his chest, down his stomach as Diana holds the knife close to his crotch, like she's threatening to emasculate him. He's not sure if the glint in her eyes is any better than the empty look that was in them before.

“Beautiful,” she whispers again, cutting near parallel lines down his hips almost lovingly, “the way the blood looks against your skin. What I wouldn't give to open you up further, all those shades of red hiding underneath that _flesh_ -”

Diana slices into him again on his inner thigh, probably the deepest cut she's made so far as 47 digs his feet into the bed and _screams,_ blood streaming from his newly opened cut. She lets out a breathless laugh as 47 thumps against the knife before falling back against the bed, his breath labored, trembling like how he does after an orgasm.

It's exhilarating, a whole new sort of sex, if she could do this to him all night she would, and all she can think is, _mine he's all mine, please let me have him I won't ask for anyone else._

She hasn't cut deep enough to hit the bone, just enough to make it hurt like hell. 47's been put through all sorts of torture in his life, made to withstand pain without so much as a whimper. But god, all the cuts over his skin throb with a unique, precise agony that he doesn't think he could've ever been prepared for.

He doesn't think it could get any worse until Diana brings her hand down and digs her thumb into the fresh cut. She twists her thumb around in it without any sense of care, making fresh pain blossom and wrack through his nerves.

47 cries out in agony before he can stop it, bringing his knees up to thud against Diana, who pulls her thumb away to lick at it with a giggle. Insane, she's gone insane. The woman he loved has left a long time ago, and a monster has taken her place.

She leans down, licking all the cuts on his chest, sprawled over his lap. 47 would try to push her off, but she seems surprisingly heavy, and him surprisingly weak with all the blood he's lost. The most he can manage is a tired shove against his shoulder, which she completely ignores as she sticks her tongue into one of his gashes.

This pulls a husky groan from 47, clenching and un-clenching his hands, trying to ignore the agony swelling underneath his skin and trickling crimson from his wounds. His breath's coming out in ragged pants as the world's shifting under him, the corners of his vision going black. The obscenely loud, wet noises of Diana lapping at his blood buzz in his ears and he doesn't have to wonder what he's done to deserve this.

He tries to reach for her one last time. “Diana.”

The rasped choke of it is what seems to draw her attention as she looks up toward him, and her mouth is a mess of red. Her eyes are black in the dim light, gazing at 47 without a shred of sympathy. She answers back, and her voice is calm and crisp.

“Have you learned your lesson?”

It's jarring to hear her say that so calmly when all 47 can see is blood, running all the way down her chin to mix with the red on his chest. 47 closes his eyes, but the image is already burned into them. He tries to sound as calm as she does.

“I have... learned my lesson. I'll never touch anyone the way I touch you, ever again.” He says it with as much sincerity as he can muster. The rope has chafed his wrists to the point of bleeding, more red to add to the bloody hieroglyph on his skin.

Her eyes narrow at him. “Are you sure?” He feels the tip of her knife again, tracing a shallow, lazy circle against his hip. He tries to stay as still as possible, despite how cold he feels.

“I am. Please, Diana. Accept my apology.”

She stares at him over the expanse of bloodied skin, quiet, contemplating. Then she smiles widely, and god, even her teeth are red. She crawls up to peck his mouth, and 47's stomach churns at the raw-penny taste as he tries not to turn away.

“I forgive you.” Her voice is calm and sweet again. “Now, let's get you cleaned up.”

She leaves and brings back a bowl with a washcloth, gently wiping away the blood and disinfecting the wounds before wrapping gauze around his chest, but it's almost like she's, preserving the cuts or something, if the small smile on her face means anything. Her mouth is still bloody.

“Diana,” 47 asks her politely, “could you undo the rope please?”

She thinks about it for a second, and then finally does, using a regular knife to saw into the rope and cut it off 47's wrists, and they thunk against the bed, numb from lack of circulation. She knows that he's too weak to struggle right now, and so she takes advantage of it, lying down to wrap her arm over his chest, careful to avoid the gauze as she closes her eyes and smiles contentedly.

Once 47 can feel his arms again he wraps one around her, holding her close as her breathing slows. He feels himself growing tired, but for a completely different reason. The bed sheets are still damp from his blood.

He wonders how much trouble he'd get in with the ICA if he snapped her neck.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter punched out during the night. I really need to stop doing that.


	11. 47/Silvio Caruso (Overtime)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What do I pay you for?!" Bodyguard 47/Silvio Caruso

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Oprah voice- YOU get a pairing! And YOU get a pairing! Everyone gets a pairing!!
> 
> Welp, the rating's changed to explicit! You all know what that means!! This prompt pretty much wrote itself, since I always have a thing about getting carried away with first-time sex fics. What can I say, they're my weakness.

47 tries to stifle a yawn in the summer heat as he stands posted outside of Silvio's mansion, idly observing his target gripe at one of his kitchen staff as he abruptly stands up from the table, pushing his lunch aside. “Terrible just, terrible,” He hears Silvio ramble across the yard as he mentally rolls his eyes and thinks about an easy way to put this whiny rich boy out of his misery.

These sorts of targets were always his favorites to take out; entitled, confrontational, and consistently displeased with _everything_. Silvio may be a genius and a bio-engineer, but he sure as hell wasn't acting like either.

“...Hey.”

47 quickly snaps from his muse to look up, focusing his eyes on none other than his target, standing right in front of him with crossed arms. Silvio has a light frown on his face, brows knitted under his sunglasses as he scrutinizes the other man. 47 clears his throat and nods slightly.

“Sir,” he replies evenly, not sure what else to say. He wasn't expecting to have Silvio single him out like this, figuring the man was too self-absorbed to take note of the guards stationed around his house, leaving his trust in the head guard to pick reliable security. Most of his targets were like that.

Silvio stays silent for another beat before saying, “Are you new here? I've never seen you before.” 47 can't see past his sunglasses, but he can tell by the tensing of Silvio's shoulders and the small tremor in his voice that the man is nervous about something. If he's sharp enough to already suspect 47 of foul play, then 47 hasn't given him the credit he deserves.

“I am, actually. Hired on yesterday by Barenza to replace Lugio.” He thanks the heavens above that he actually took the time to read the note in the small room where he'd knocked out the actual guard stationed in this area.

Silvio nods a bit, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “So you're... Riccardo, right? Barenza's told me a bit about you.”

47's eyes glint briefly. “Oh? How so?” There's a small turn to the corner of Silvio's lips as he unfolds his arms.

“It was all praise about this and that, how well you served the Clemente family in Sicily. All that jazz. But, you know... you're honestly not what I pictured you to look like. At all.” Even through his sunglasses, 47 can feel the heat of Silvio's eyes raking down his body, clad in a white tank that left no room to imagine his physique.

There's a dusting of pink across Silvio's face as he looks back up at 47, and the agent already has a pretty good idea of where this is going. This isn't the first time he's been solicited on the job, garnering attention from men and women alike when dressed in clothes deemed flattering to his body.

“Say,” Silvio says in a voice that's steeped in nervousness, “I know your shift's about over, but... how would you like some overtime?” Aaaaand there it is.

The last words come out so quickly and close together that 47 almost didn't understand them. Silvio's looking at the space next to 47, tapping his foot with a feigned air of impatience as his arms are crossed even tighter this time.

47 tilts his head in reply, his voice coming out low. “Overtime, you say? Well, sir, if you're suggesting what I believe you're-”

Silvio quickly interrupts him in an eruption of nervous rambling. “Yes! Well, I mean, what I'm saying is that if you're wanting to... to get some overtime, my bedroom's located on the second floor, last room on the east wing. On the right. Can't miss it.”

Silvio swallows, gives another glance at 47 before starting to walk away, almost stumbling on his feet. “Be there in 5 minutes,” He tosses over his shoulder as he makes his way into the house in quick strides, leaving 47 with wide eyes and a new sort of perspiration breaking over his skin.

47 didn't even have to follow Silvio, didn't have to _try_ to catch him alone. The opportunity presented itself to 47 with a golden ribbon tied neatly around it, a gift from whatever god 47 had gotten in the good graces of; he'd be a damn _nutcase_ to not seize it with gusto.

With only a moment's hesitation, 47 goes back into the house, pacing back and forth, thinking of all the new options this presented. All this because Silvio thought he was attractive. 47's never been one to gloat on his looks, but he's never been above using them to his advantage either.

He could make Silvio wait for a little bit, sweat it out, wonder if this dashing Riccardo is going to take him up on his offer at all. Or he could head over there now, catch Silvio by surprise, take him out and be on his merry way to the labs to deal with the last target. 47 doesn't realize how much time has passed in his musing until he glances down at his watch and notices 5 minutes have already passed.

Make Silvio sweat it out, then.

47 leaves his position to stride through the house, ignoring the looks of the other guards he passes as he prowls his way to Silvio's quarters.

A few turns and a bewildered butler later, 47 finds himself standing outside of the vigorously shined glass doors of Silvio's room. The other guards have already been shooed off, no doubt due to Silvio's virgin-like nervousness and overwhelming need for privacy. It just gets better and better.

He can see Silvio sitting on the couch, his back towards the door, looking down with his hands clasped. 47 feels a faint, almost insincere tug of guilt at how tense Silvio seems all over at thinking he wasn't going to show up.

47 takes a deep breath, slipping into another persona before he swings the doors open with gusto. Silvio nearly jumps off the couch and swears, whipping his head over at the loud entrance and 47 fixes him with a look that's downright _smoldering_ as he leans against the door frame, gives Silvio a once-over and states in a low rumble, “You called for me, Mr. Caruso?”

The way Silvio's face goes from tan to cherry-red is priceless.

He's already stuttering as 47 slowly makes his way over, swinging the glass doors shut behind him. “I, um- I did, didn't I? For a second I thought you weren't coming. Which- I mean, I knew you were coming. I...” Silvio trails off as 47 steps close enough to where their breaths mingle, a light smirk on his face.

For all his intelligence and irritated retorts, Silvio seems to lose his voice whenever a hot guard's trailing a hand down his back and pulling him just _that_ much closer, close enough to where 47 can smell his cologne as well the faint scent of starch on his meticulously pressed cardigan.

47 hasn't used this persona in a loooong time, and he's forgotten just how fun it could be. He brings a hand up to casually slip Silvio's sunglasses off his heated face, clicking them onto a small nearby table as he says down to the younger man in a liquid purr, “Well, Mr. Caruso? I'm ready for that overtime.”

Silvio opens his mouth, then shuts it, and then opens it again to whimper, “Oh fuck.” He seems that much more flustered without his sunglasses to hide behind.

While getting into Silvio's pants wasn't 47's prime goal, he can't help but see the appeal in deflowering a haughty, rich Italian boy with serious attachment issues. Especially when said haughty Italian boy was turning into a nervous wreck in his hands.

He's already pushing Silvio back onto the couch, who flops backwards with a comical lack of grace as he looks up at 47 with impossibly wide eyes. 47 plants a knee next to Silvio's hip, looking down at him with fire in his eyes as he slides a hand under his white tank, pulling it up to show off his toned stomach flecked with scars.

Just when he thought Silvio's face couldn't get any redder.

“H...Hold on, hold on!” Silvio sputters as he grabs at 47's wrist with shocking strength, panic in his eyes. 47 lifts an eyebrow but doesn't move, waiting for Silvio to continue. He does, after taking a few deep, measured breaths, looking everywhere but at 47.

“I, um... just want to let you know that this is my first time, uh, doing this sort of thing.”

Oh? This time both of 47's brows are raised. While he was suspecting of Silvio's virginity, it still came as a pleasant surprise to have it thrown out into the open like that. In a measured voice, 47 replies, “First time with a man?”

Silvio shakes his head with a bit more force than needed. “No... first time with _anybody_.”

Oh. _Oh._

“Yeah. I mean, I had a girlfriend in high school, but we didn't get very far. My mother didn't think she was a good influence. Shut down that relationship quick.” 47 notes how Silvio says 'mother' with no small amount of venom in his voice, but decides to not ask about it.

He feels Silvio's grip on his wrist loosen as Silvio brings his hands to wring them together in his lap, chewing on his lip. Then he glances up at 47, and the vulnerable look in his eyes makes something twist deep in 47's lower stomach.

“Is... this your first time being with a guy?” Silvio's voice has gone quiet, contemplative. Like he's thinking about whether or not to back out of all this. 47 frowns. No, it isn't. It's not even his first time bedding an Italian either – the first was a wise-cracking gangster from Brooklyn who rode 47 to a mind-blowing finish in the front seat of a Porsche. Ah, yes. Good times.

“No,” 47 answers honestly. Silvio nods in reply. “I see. That's, well, not surprising.” His eyes widen and he looks up at 47, stuttering, “I mean, just the way you act! - I'm not calling you a slut or anything... well, unless you want me to. Shit, what am I even saying?”

47 sees the opportunity, and seizes it. He leans into Silvio's space, closer, closer still until their chests are pressed together as his face grazes the side of Silvio's cheek, moving his knee snugly between the rich boy's legs. Silvio's gone silent with shock, his face burning against 47's as the agent replies in a low growl against his ear, “You can call me whatever you'd like, Mr. Caruso. But just remember that _I'm_ the boss tonight.”

47 feels something growing stiff against his leg, and fast as Caruso lets out the cutest whimper he's ever heard. So Silvio likes it when someone takes control. 47 can work with that.

The agent's teeth graze over the shell of Silvio's ear before he bites his lobe, feeling Silvio's cock twitch against his leg as he kisses his way down the younger man's jaw. One thing he knows about virgins is that they'll flee if he starts too aggressively, so he makes sure to kiss him slow enough to let Silvio ease into his touch with a low sigh, moving his legs further apart to make space for the older man.

The soft crunch of the couch's leather as he nudges Silvio underneath him, 47's lips kissing down his throat as a calloused hand slides its way under the younger man's likely overpriced polo. Silvio's stomach muscles twitch under his palm and a nervous laugh leaves the rich boy that 47 answers with a low “shhhhh,” grazing a brown nipple that quickly hardens under his touch.

“You're quite receptive, Mr. Caruso,” 47's voice is a low chuckle and he grinds his knee against the heat, soaking in the full-body shiver from Silvio. “Aren't you the eager one.” A moment passes before he feel's Silvio's lightly trembling hands sliding over his back, pushing 47 in for a comically wet kiss that's more arousing than 47 is wont to admit.

They pull away and Silvio is practically throbbing against his leg as 47 grabs at his belt, undoing it with measured expertise before pushing it down as Silvio's erection springs out to bump against his stomach, precum beading at the tip. Silvio's suddenly shy all over again, turning his burning face away to bury it into a pillow with a low noise. 47's leaning down to place a reassuring kiss on his cheek without realizing it as he runs a single digit up a thick vein on Silvio's cock.

“Aah, _dio_ , Riccardo” Silvio whimpers into the pillow, and 47 calmly replies, “Got any lube?”

Silvio swallows. “I, uum, I do. In my, um, pocket.” 47's honestly very glad that in spite of the younger man's inexperience, he'd at least taken the time to research gay sex and knew that without some sort of lubrication, it was going to hurt a lot more. And there's only so much spit that 47's cotton-mouth can conjure to ease the penetration.

Not to mention 47 is straight-up _packing_ down south. Silvio picked a hell of a guy for his first time.

He slides a hand into Silvio's pocket, grabs the small bottle nestled inside and uncaps it, warm liquid sliding in between his fingers as Silvio gives him the sort of look you'd give a theme park worker who's strapping you in for one hell of a ride.

47 pulls Silvio's pants and boxers straight off, dropping them to the floor and he eases a finger into Silvio's puckered entrance, instantly feeling the younger man stiffen against him. “Ha-aah, shit that feels weird,” Silvio's muffled voice whimpers out and 47 bites his lower lip to keep from chuckling. Virgins.

He thrusts the finger in and out, feeling the wet heat twitch around it before he decides Silvio's ready for another one. “This is where it'll start to burn,” 47 says against Silvio's jaw, sliding in another finger and already Silvio's protesting at the intrusion.

“Fuck, _fuck_ it hurts,” Silvio gasps out, grabbing at 47's wrist. 47 mentally sighs, feeling Silvio soften slightly against his leg. “Trust me, Mr. Caruso, without this, it's going to hurt a lot more.”

“Yeah,” Silvio replies after beat of hesitation, “I guess you're right. I mean, you feel... kinda big. Like, wow. How big are you?” Yet another question 47 isn't too keen on answering, but it's not like Silvio isn't going to find out soon anyway. “Seven inches soft,” 47 replies slowly.

“Seven?! Soft?!” Silvio moves his face from the pillow to blink his eyes in disbelief up at the agent. “You're kidding.”

47 gives a light smirk in reply. “I'm not. Eight inches fully erect. Thick, too.”

“Fuck,” Silvio whispers, and then after another beat, “ _Fuck._ I really know how to pick and choose, huh. _”_ He doesn't say anything else, simply letting 47 ease him open, slowly thrusting the fingers in and out until he grazes a little spot that sends a bolt of lightening up Silvio's spine.

Silvio's back arches up into 47's hand, his head thrown back as 47 keeps rubbing his fingers over that bundle of nerves time and time again. He's whimpering out phrases peppered with Italian curse words before he whines out, “God, Riccardo, I'm so- fuck, I'm gonna-” 47 grabs him by the hip to keep him from moving away as he slams his fingers against the spot, rubbing vigorously and Silvio comes onto his stomach with a high-pitched, “ _Cazzo!_ ” leaving gritted teeth.

He's trembling against the agent weakly as he rides out his high before flopping bone-limp back onto the couch, a sheen of sweat over his tanned skin. 47 feels his own need straining in his pants, swallowing as he remembers the explosion of pleasure on Silvio's face once he reached his peak.

“Aaah-ha, _dio_ , Riccardo,” Silvio pants out, a messy grin on his face, “That was- _fuck_ , just get in me.”

47's undoing his belt before Silvio says another word, and his own erection has Silvio's eyes going wide again, partly with awe, partly with fear. 47 strokes himself idly, his eyes burning into Silvio's. “I told you, eight inches. Not too late to back out.”

For a moment there, it looks like Silvio is. But then he bites into his lip before his brow furrows in determination. “N-no. I can, I can do this, ” he finally says, as if he's trying to give himself a pep talk. A smirk curves the side of 47's lip. “Good boy.”

He coats himself with more than enough lube, and then pushes Silvio back into the couch, pressing the head against Silvio's ass before very slowly easing his way in. He watches the parade of emotions across Silvio's face as the Italian simultaneously tries to push him away and hold him closer at the same time, grinding out every profanity under the sun once 47 has five inches in.

“Hurts, hurts, _hurts_ ,” Silvio buries his face into 47's shoulder in a tight whine, his nails clawing into 47's back. “Easy now,” 47 shushes Silvio's whimpering with a wet kiss on his neck, and before either of them know it, he's fully sheathed. There's a few heavy moments of silence as Silvio's walls tighten around him, struggling to adjust.

“I... I have a dick inside of me,” Silvio's voice right against his ear, trembling a bit as his arms wrap tighter around 47. “I am getting fucked right now. Holy shit.”

47 doesn't know whether to laugh at Silvio's whispered line of awe or roll his eyes in utter disbelief at how Silvio is acting like a freshly-deflowered virgin. He resides to neither as he chooses instead to press his hips in a little bit further and incite a weak gasp from the man below him.

“You alright?” 47 says against Silvio's ear, perhaps a bit too seductively if the subtle shiver against his hips means anything. “Y-yeah,” Silvio replies in a sputter, “I mean it's just... wow. I never thought I'd have a guy take my virginity, but it's, you know, not so bad if it's with someone hot.” Another heavy pause before Silvio quickly tries to take back what he just said.

“Shit, that was- way too weird to say, I mean-”

47 moves his lips up to press them against Silvio's mouth, if only to shut him up. Silvio shies away at first but then quickly warms into the kiss as 47 starts to move his hips ever-so-slowly, feeling Silvio grind briefly against his stomach as another whimper grazes his mouth. He's not sure why Silvio's still shy about expressing his attraction to 47 when the agent's literally balls-deep in him.

Silvio's grip around 47's back tightens a bit as 47's thrusts become bolder, the agent planting a foot on the ground to gain leverage and angle his thrusts to hit that little spot that makes Silvio's fingers curl over his back and his breath come out in little pants and gasps.

The distant sound of other bodyguards chatting in the yard below reaches 47's ears, and he briefly wonders if Silvio had been eyeing the rest of them before 47 stepped in and caught his attention. Maybe, maybe not. He seems to have a preference for women, if his past girlfriend was any indicator. That, or the wistful sigh he'd given towards the young female gardener earlier that afternoon.

47 doesn't let himself think about it any further. Silvio's already growing hard against him once more, the couch squeaking under the force of a thrust that steals the younger man's breath as the tight heat spasms around 47's cock.

“Aaah-ngh, not so, _hard_ ,” Silvio gasps out, but the solid heat pressing against 47's stomach says he likes 47's force a little too much. 47 runs his tongue over Silvio's mouth, pushing in harder as a response, and his hand's grabbing Silvio's dick to work him to another climax.

His thrusts get harder, more erratic and Silvio's cry reaches his ears as the younger man cums between them once more, white ropy lines over his stomach as he tightens around 47's dick. There's the lust-brazen suggestion in his mind to cum inside of Silvio, but he can't. He just can't. Not if he wants to leave as little evidence as possible.

Silvio's twisting under him, over-stimulation making the younger man cry out as 47 finally reaches his peak, and he pulls out just in time to come in white spurts over Silvio's stomach, adding to the mess as his mind blanks out, bliss melting hot under his skin.

A few moments later as 47's doing his damn best not to collapse onto Silvio as they both try to catch their breaths, hot pants thickening the already humid air. 47 slowly moves off of the younger man, eyes raking over the hot mess that is Silvio, lax and sweaty against the couch as his hips twitch lightly, his face a lovely shade of scarlet.

“How was that for a first time?” 47 asks nonchalantly, trying not to laugh at how wrecked Silvio looks. Silvio seems to snap back into reality as he quickly sits up, wincing as 47 slides a hand over his leg.

“Good. _Cazzo_ , that was good. But now I'm sore all over. Shit.” He looks at 47, whose hot blue eyes pin him down. “You wanna take a shower?” 47 suggests mildly, hoping that Silvio will take him up on the offer.

Silvio looks him over, and then smiles shyly. “Alright,” he says, sitting up from the couch only to stagger a bit as 47 grabs him to keep him steady. “Damn,” Silvio laughs a bit, “really did a number on me.” 47 bites his lip at the quip- Silvio is woefully, blissfully unaware of what's about to happen next.

Silvio goes to the bathroom first, 47 promising to join him in just a moment as he carefully tucks himself into his pants behind Silvio's back, grimacing at how he can't properly clean himself until later. Another minute passes and then he hears the shower start up, Silvio's muffled humming reaching his ears.

He steps into the bathroom and gives himself the small luxury of admiring Silvio's tan, naked body under the stream of water steaming the air. Silvio's back is turned to the agent, tilting his face up into the stream, and 47 takes another breath before he brings his gun up, cocks it and then pulls the trigger.

  
The bang, although silenced, still rings in 47's ears as Silvio falls forward, hitting the wall before landing on the ground with a graceless thunk. It was quick and quiet, a textbook definition of a clean kill.

He leaves Silvio's lifeless body under the stream of water, blood mixing into a rust color running down the drain as he strides out of the quarters. One down, one to go.

Shame that it had to go like this. The boy had been fun, after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote 47 as being sexually experienced, because *somebody* had to take the reins in that mess. If you guys got some more explicit suggestions, the door's always open. -Tries to ignore the staggering dissonance between all of the chapters-


	12. 47/Francesca De Santis (Love By Candlelight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mmm... I should say no..."
> 
> "But you won't." 47/Francesca De Santis (disguised lover)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all wanted to see 47 eat a lady out, right? Right?? Of course you did. Don't worry, Diana will get some love too, in another chapter. Sorry for any mistakes, I only read through this once before posting lol.

One down, one more to go.

47's already got the new disguise, standing over the unconscious Roberto as he's pulling up the contacts on the instructor's phone and noting how Francesca seems to be the most dialed. He hits the call button, listens to the muted rings before Francesca answers. “It's me,” 47 says simply.

“Roberto! Silvio let you off early.” Her voice is surprised, but pleasantly so. 47 also notes how attractive it is, not for information retention but simply because he can appreciate a nice accent.

“I want us to meet. Your room.” His voice is only a mediocre pass of Roberto's, but it seems to do the trick. Francesca gives a low hum on the other end. “Mmm... I should say no...”

“But you won't. See you soon.” That no-nonsense growl and he can almost feel Francesca's shiver on the other end before he hangs up, giving a disinterested glance down at the unconscious Roberto, thinking about how there was an empty crate nearby.

In her room, 47 does what he can to set the mood. Francesca's a huge romantic, that much he can tell, so he lights some candles and turns the tv on to a flickering fire that casts a dim light in the even dimmer room. Curtains drawn, petals on the ground, now all 47 needs is to add the finishing touch.

He cracks the small bottle open, pouring its contents into both wine glasses. The poison seeps through the bubbles before dissipating, and then he sits in the room's corner and waits.

A few minutes stretch by before the door opens, and Francesca steps in. 47's eyes roam down her figure before he can stop himself, and she glances over at him with a demure smile, turning herself with a cock of her hips as she gestures around her room.

“Candles,” She says with a low sigh. “My favorite. You are impossible.” She's beautiful, mature, sure in her steps where Silvio wasn't.

47 knows what he wants to do now. It wouldn't seem right to let Francesca go like this, surrounded by candles and firelight without a little passion in the sheets. He waits until Francesca turns her back again, and then gets up from his chair, making quick strides over to the scientist.

His arms slip around her figure as he pulls her to his back, hearing her quiet gasp as he glides his lips down her ear. “I'm only impossible with you,” He growls low before coaxing her towards the bed, pulling off her lab coat.

Francesca follows him without any protest as she falls backwards onto the bed, her hair fanning over the sheets. “So eager,” she giggles up at 47, who angles his face just enough to hide it in the room's shadows. All she needs to see are his clothes, which aren't about to stay on much longer anyhow.

He leans down and locks his lips with Francesca's in a slow, deep kiss as his hands roam over her body, relishing its softness. She's pulling up his shirt, running her hand down his flat stomach with a low, appreciative hum and, bit by bit, their clothes turn into a pile next to the bed. Their kiss becomes more heated, Francesca letting out small gasps and moans with every tweak and pull of 47's hands on her breasts.

She pushes him up, pressing her body flush against his as her thighs brush his cock and send a shiver up the assassin's spine. “Need you now,” He growls into her neck, feeling her wet heat so impossibly close that it's slowly tearing at his self-control.

“It's so dark though,” Francesca protests in a low voice, trying to ignore the way 47's kissing down her neck. “I wish to see you, Roberto.”

“We don't need to see anything,” 47 murmurs into her neck, his hand sliding down her thigh. “Just feel.”

His hand slides over his thigh to slide a finger over her snatch before dipping into the tight, wet heat. “Mmm,” Francesca rolls her hips into his hand, her voice a purr as the swell of her breasts push against 47's chest. “If you insist.”

47's fingers push in and of her snatch, feeling her walls tighten around them at one particularly deep thrust as Francesca pushes into his hand with a mewl. Her moans against his neck are affecting the assassin more than he'd like to admit as he nudges her back onto the bed, pulling out his fingers and running his tongue around them, wet, lewd noises filling the room as Francesca shivers under his grasp.

He's leaning down, breathing against Francesca's snatch, feeling the heat rolling off the scientist in dizzying waves. Her low gasp as he licks a hot strip up her snatch turns into a cry as he thrusts a tongue into the wet heat. Francesca's legs wrap over his shoulders, her hands grabbing at the sheets as he licks everywhere his tongue can reach, slowly feeling her coming undone in his mouth.

“Oh yes, oh _god_ ,” She breathes out, hips pushing into his mouth as he wraps his lips over her clit and rolls his tongue over it. “Dio, Roberto, don't stop... please, more!” He gives her a soft shush and pulls away just long enough to suck his fingers into his mouth once more.

47 lathes his tongue over his fingers, coating them in a generous swathe of saliva before angling them into Francesca's snatch and thrusting them in, scissoring them apart and soaking in the low moan that vibrates against his mouth, his tongue flicking over her clit time and time again.

“Aa-ah, _Roberto!-_ ” And the way Francesca rolls the vowels off her tongue as she arches into his mouth, she isn't so much saying his name as she is singing it. He laves his tongue around, thrusting it into her before suctioning his lips over her clit and making her push off the bed with another cry that tapers off into a low moan as her legs tremble on 47's shoulders.

47 grabs her by the hips and pulls her up, her lower back arching from the bed as her pleased gasp reaches his ears. “Oh, Roberto, so much passion, how have you – _haah_ \- gotten so good at this-” 47 responds by giving her a slow, hard lick before pushing his tongue back in and curling it against her walls, grabbing her hard by the hips and feeling her whole body tremble.

Francesca lets out another cry that echoes into the ceiling, gripping the sheets with white knuckles as her moans become higher still. “Oh, _dio_ , Roberto, I'm getting so close-” 47's fingers push in deeper than ever, his tongue licking a hot stripe up her snatch and then Francesca's coming with a throaty gasp, her hips pushing against his face as he coaxes her through an orgasm that leaves her limp in his hands, her breaths coming out in quick, ragged gasps.

47 feels her release trickling down his chin as he lowers her shivering body back onto the bed, and his tongue licks at it absentmindedly, feeling a small tug of pride at the pleasure-dazed look on Francesca's face. She says his name again, low and breathy, her face flushed as she leans forward. “Kiss me.”

He leans forward and captures her lips before she can say anything else, not wanting her to get too good a look at him; even in the dark, Francesca's sharp eyes could surely distinguish that he wasn't actually her lover, and he wasn't keen on taking any more chances.

Their kiss becomes a hot wet tangle as he eases her back down, his body pressed flushed against hers. There is always something so unique in having a woman's body against his, how soft and small it feels under him. More curves than edges, different sorts of dips that 47's fingers trace over with fascination. Francesca doesn't seem to mind all the attention his hands are giving her, if the small giggle against his mouth means anything.

Francesca's hips start to wiggle against his in building earnest, her cunt warm and wet and ready for more. 47 pulls his lips away from hers, turns her over and kisses her neck before he starts to ease his cock inside of her. Wet heat, wet and so fucking _tight_ , swallows him up and she arches against him like a cat, purring out all sorts of praises about how full he's making her.

“S _ì,sì! A_ _more,_ oh g _od,_ you feel so good,” Francesca's voice suddenly spikes in pitch as he thrusts the last few inches in, and she grabs the headboard. “Roberto, please,” she moans out over her shoulder, her hair sticking to her kiss-smeared lipstick. “Use me. _Ride_ me.” She squeezes herself hard around him and 47 sees spots in his eyes.

He gasps out before he can think, “With pleasure.”

47 pushes into her hard enough to make the headboard smack against the wall, scraping over the wooden floor as he grabs her hips and slams into her with deep, hard thrusts. Francesca takes it like a champ, holding onto the headboard to keep from smacking into it as he rides her harder than she's ever known with her true lover. Her cries are drowned out by the slamming of the headboard against the wall, the wet smack of his body against hers and another hard squeeze of her cunt around his cock has 47 growling low in his throat.

“Oh, oh, yes, _cazzo~_!” Francesca cries into the ceiling, and 47's kissing up the column of her spine to run his tongue over her neck, teeth scraping against the hot skin. He's pulling her up flush against his back, grabbing her breasts and rolling his thumbs over her pert, tight nipples, swallowing her moans with a wet kiss.

47 kneads her breasts in calloused hands, thrusting upwards into Francesca and hitting a new spot that makes her screams turn high and husky when she tears her mouth away from his. She pushes her hips down, rolls them, and 47 suddenly remembers the perks of having an experienced partner as another hard squeeze around his cock momentarily turns his mind to static.

He grits his teeth to keep any noises from escaping, not trusting himself when all he's able to feel is mind-numbing bliss thudding under his skin, tightening into a coil in his stomach. It feels like Francesca's reaching another peak as well, crying weakly as he flicks a thumb over her nipple, bringing another hand down to rub at her clit.

Francesca's thighs clamp over his hand almost instantly, the scientist jolting in his lap at the sudden sensation, but 47 continues to rub her clit undeterred, holding her tight in his grip. “Hah- aaah, Roberto, that is- not there - !” She starts squirming hard before another thrust has her throwing her head back against his shoulder, letting out loud, nonsensical noises as her brain tries to process the overload of sensations. 47 knows just the right amount of pressure to use to turn Francesca's mind into mush as she practically collapses against him with her full weight, howling out, “C-coming-!”

She's coming hard again, spasming around his cock as her release gushes onto the sheets. 47 feels his own release coming fast, the coil in his stomach unbearably tight, and fuck, _fuck,_ he just wants to come inside her, but he can't, he _can't_ -

He pulls out just in time to shoot his load on the sheets, holding Francesca tight against him as he's shuddering out his orgasm. A few moments later, 47 has a sticky lapful of a scientist panting into the ceiling, “Haa, so... so good... I don't think I've... loved you more than in this moment.” She wriggles around in his lap to pull 47 into a messy kiss, letting out a low noise when 47 bites into her lower lip.

They pull away after what seems like forever but not long enough, and 47 settles himself on the bed, squeezing Francesca's hip. “How about some wine?” He whispers into the shell of her ear, and he can feel the low exhale as she lets out a smile.

“But of course,” Francesca replies back in a low voice, slowly pulling away from his heat before the soft patter of her feet on the tile has 47 sitting upright, staring intently at the dark outline of her figure. She picks up the glasses, gives one a contemplative sip before she turns around to walk towards the bed... but then the sound of glass shattering on the floor echoes in the small room as she shutters, grabbing at her throat.

The sounds of her choking as her throat constricts painfully tight has 47 standing up from the bed but not moving towards her. “R-Roberto?” She croaks out, and her voice is so scared and vulnerable as 47 casually flicks on the lights, his eyes boring into her.

Francesca's eyes grow huge with shock, both hands grabbing at her throat now as she falls onto her knees, her last sight of a man she doesn't even recognize. Then the choking finally stops as she collapses onto the ground, completely still.

47's eyes stay on her for a few beats, idly thinking about what a shame it was that Roberto couldn't service her with half the passion that an assassin had. Then again, he wasn't an ordinary assassin, not by a long shot.

The guards have probably found Silvio's body by now. Keeping that in mind, 47 dresses himself as quickly as possibly, grabbing the sheets off the bed and nimbly sidestepping Francesca's corpse as he walks out the back, remembering that there was an incinerator at the corner of the yard. At least he had the sense to destroy the virus before getting down and dirty with his targets, otherwise he'd be in a bit more trouble than he already was.

Shame. Always a shame. Italian lovers may be his favorite after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeey, so, Adam and I started a discord for Hitman prompts and kinks, and general discussion where we can talk about whatever our perverted little hearts desire. So feel free to join the server and get weird together. Next chapter's going to be about game night, the wholesome kind of games lol.
> 
> Discord Server: https://discord.gg/ZuFXAM6


	13. Game Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hitman gang has a game night. Allow me to apologize in advance for this chapter. Unbeta'd because of course it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say, what's the quickest way to take a bunch of super serious characters and turn them into a horrifically stupid parody of themselves? Let's run them through a few games and a few more shots of vodka and find out!
> 
> Did I lie when I said this chapter was going to be completely wholesome? Hell yes.  
> Is everyone in this chapter OOC as all get-out? Hell yes.  
> Was alcohol involved in the making of this chapter? Let's keep that a secret.
> 
> Don't look at me like that. I'm running on three hours of sleep and sheer motherfucking willpower.

If there’s one thing Diana’s learned about 47 during their time in close quarters, it’s that 47 isn’t quite the endlessly talented person he makes himself to be. At least when it comes to drawing.

They’re sitting in the living room of their small hideout, trying to wind down with a game of Pictionary after 47’s hits in Whittleton Creek. It took a good amount of persuasion to get 47 to join, and now that he’s at the board, Diana can see why he was so hesitant.

“What… _is_ that?”

Olivia’s leaning forward from her criss-crossed legs position, squinting at the drawing on the small whiteboard as 47 remains silent, idly flipping the marker in his hand, staring at the scribbles like even he doesn’t fully understand.

Lucas attempts to answer the question for her. “A…bunch of bananas, perhaps? Are those bananas, 47?”

“No,” 47 answers simply, turning to form a strange half-circle over the sliced ovals, making the picture that much more confusing. Then he sticks two pinpricks within the half-circle, stepping back to look at the small group, and he can practically see the question marks popping over their heads. Diana tilts her head as Olivia makes another attempt at the picture.

“Um… a guy’s head upside with a really weird wig!” 47 shakes his head, his brow creasing in mild frustration. He turns back and starts scribbling small circles on the half-ovals, and the team becomes even more deflated. “What the hell,” Olivia mutters beside Lucas, who just shrugs beside her, having no more of an idea than she does. 47’s drawing looks more like a bootleg Picasso painting at this point.

Suddenly Diana sits up from the couch, clapping her hands together. “An octopus!” She exclaims, and 47 give a minute nod as both Lucas and Olivia spring forward from their chairs. “What?!” Both Olivia and Lucas are standing at the board now, eyeing it from all angles as 47 crosses his arms and stares them down. Diana’s sitting back on the couch, stifling a grin at 47’s annoyed face.

“I guess these are the suction cups?” Lucas asks 47, pointing a finger at the circles spotted sporadically over the octopus’s severely deformed legs. “Yes, they are,” 47 replies, grabbing the eraser to wipe out the abomination on the board, but Lucas is grabbing at his arms to stop him.

“Wait, wait wait!” Olivia says, grabbing at her phone. “I gotta get a picture of this.” 47 starts struggling with Lucas to erase the octopus, but Lucas is pushing him back, laughing. “You don’t need to take a picture,” 47’s voice comes out exasperated as he tries to pull his arms out of Lucas’ grasp and they both end up slamming against the board, sending it clattering to the ground.

Diana stands up suddenly, making to pick up the board but Olivia’s already grabbing it “You’re kidding, right?” Olivia giggles, setting it on back on the easel. “The world’s top assassin can’t draw to save his life. Looks like you’re not that perfect after all.” She’s pulling up her phone to aim at the sad little excuse of an octopus, but 47 lunges around Lucas and makes another swipe at the board that sends it flying into the wall this time.

Diana sees her chance and runs over to seize the easel as Lucas and 47’s tussle sends them tumbling over the couch. “Diana, run!” Lucas yells behind the toppled couch, and then 47’s voice growling, “Erase it, Diana!”

Diana decides to take her chances and run with the precious picture into the hideout’s kitchen, Olivia hot on her heels. “C’mon Diana, just one picture!” Olivia shouts behind her and Diana pauses, holding the board protectively without trying to smudge the drawing.

“Okay,” Diana says finally, “but do it quickly.” She turns the board around as Olivia squeaks in delight and snaps a picture of the octopus just as Lucas and 47 come barreling into the kitchen, slamming against the fridge. Lucas is pinning 47 against it as the younger clone sees Diana holding the board up for Olivia, and the look of ‘how could you?’ written all over his face makes Diana feel a twinge of guilt that’s quickly squashed by Olivia’s proclamation of victory. “This is our new mascot, everyone!” She says, proudly gesturing at the disabled octopus on the board that Diana’s now sheepishly holding.

47 yanks himself away from Lucas, calmly steps over to pluck the board from Diana’s grasp and then grabs a dish towel from the counter to furiously scrub the picture out of existence. There’s a moment of silence in the kitchen that’s quickly pierced with the laughter of Lucas and Olivia when 47 turns to glower at them, a faint dusting of red on his cheeks.

Diana thins her lips a bit, trying to think of something to say to lessen the tension laying thick in the air. All she can think to say is, “Come now, it wasn’t that bad. I knew what it was, at least.” She’s not going to add that her guess was almost as arbitrary as the others.

47 just gives her this look of ‘traitor’ while Olivia replies between giggles, “Okay, sure, but it was pretty bad.” The blunt reply in itself further sealed the guarantee that 47 wasn’t going to play any more games with them that night; and it had already been hard enough to persuade 47 into playing Pictionary.

“I’m going to bed,” 47 states finally, dropping the cursed board onto the counter as he swiftly walks out of the kitchen, Lucas following after him. “47 we’re just teasing,” Lucas says to his back as 47 halts suddenly and turns to the older clone.

“It’s the first time I’ve drawn anything,” 47 admits, his shoulders relaxing. “At least, from what I can remember.” Lucas tilts his head, digging up old memories as Diana and Olivia step in from the kitchen to stand behind him, wringing their hands as they smile apologetically.

“Well, no, maybe not the first,” Lucas finally says, “I remember when we were very young, you drew a rabbit.”

“And that was bad too, I’m assuming,” 47 replies in a flat voice, his shoulders tensing once more.

“Well…” Lucas trails off a bit, “of course, but that was because you were a child. It was a cute picture though. Even if it was confiscated.” Both Lucas and 47 seem to deflate at the memory.

Olivia rubs the back of her neck, like she's trying to bite back another remark. Instead she says, “None of us here are good artists. Maybe picking Pictionary was a bad idea. How about Charades or something?”

Diana turns to her with both brows raised. “Charades?” She tries to imagine 47 doing an exaggerated impression of milking a cow and suddenly Charades sounds a lot more entertaining. But in order to preserve 47's dignity, she shakes her head a bit. “No...perhaps a board game instead.”

Olivia deflates a bit. “Really? No Charades? C'mon, I can do a mean impression of a hot dog on a roller at 7-11.”

This earns a chuckle from Lucas and a smile from Diana, but 47 remains stone-faced. “Or even better,” Olivia finally says with mischief in her voice, “Truth or Dare.”

Everyone in the room is giving her a look of disbelief. “Truth or- Olivia, we're not in middle school,” Lucas states simply, but he finds the idea itself far too appealing to outright say no. Neither can Diana. 47, of course, doesn't provide any comment. He's still standing away from them, giving them all the side-eye.

“Oh c'mon, nobody knows how to loosen up around here,” Olivia huffs a bit, going back to sit on the couch. Diana wrings her hands together a bit before she finds herself saying, “We can play a bit of Truth or Dare, as long as it doesn't get out of hand.” She looks over towards the men for affirmation, and Lucas just gives a shrug as 47 looks away, a strange look on his face.

Olivia's face brightens at the agreement, clapping her hands together. “Alright! Everyone back on the couch, we've got some games to play!” Diana takes 47 by the wrist and gently starts to tug him back towards the couch, and 47 complies with no small amount of hesitation.

“Hold on,” Lucas says behind them, turning to walk into the kitchen, “I've got something to lighten the mood a bit.” Everyone else is sitting on the couch now, Olivia practically bouncing in her seat before Lucas comes out with an alarming amount of alcohol in his arms. Vodka, whiskey and even moonshine look to be making an appearance tonight, and 47's already standing up from the couch to walk away.

Both Olivia and Diana are grabbing 47 to hold him down as Lucas sets the bottles on the coffee table with a flourish. “Oh my god, 47 can you even get drunk?!” Olivia grunts out as Diana pushes more of her weight onto 47 and almost falls over onto him. They manage to keep 47 from walking away, but just barely. He's sitting on the couch with stiff shoulders, staring hard at the liquor bottles.

“I'm not drinking any of that,” 47 states simply, and Lucas just shrugs at him with a small grin. “Nobody said you have to. This is something to spice up the game, if anyone else is interested.” He's already pouring himself a shot as Olivia takes the vodka to eye it.

“I know I am,” Olivia says with a grin as she's pouring herself some of the fancy-flavoured vodka before offering it to Diana, who almost says no but then takes it because she figures that Olivia was right; she really does need to loosen up a bit, if only for tonight.

“Bottoms up!” Olivia taps her glass against the rest as they down the liquor and settle in for the night. One shot turns to two, then three as the questions and dares become more absurd and perverse, and by the time Diana realizes that at least an hour has passed, she's pretending to light-saber fight Olivia with a pair of brooms while 47's discreetly sneaking some of the shots that a shirtless Lucas is pouring for him on the couch.

“It's over, Diana!” Olivia yells from where she's standing on the coffee table, drunkenly pointing her broom down at the handler, “I have the high ground!” She stumbles a bit, almost falling off the table before righting herself with a giggle. Diana just gives her a menacing look and points her broom handle in return.

“You underestimate my true power!” She starts to climb onto the table after Olivia, who leaps off with a yell and the two start smacking their handles together as Lucas turns up the fight music already blasting from Olivia's laptop. 47 still looks like he has no idea what's going on.

Their fight ends with Diana turning to avoid a slow-motion hit from Olivia and smacking directly into a door frame. They stumble back into the living room, breathless and giggling as Lucas declares them both to be winners, a good deal of empty shot glasses on the table at this point.

“Okay, okay, my turn!” Olivia settles back onto the couch beside Diana, pretending to stroke her chin before pointing at 47. “Mr. Clean!”

Diana snorts a bit too loudly at this. 47 doesn't seem to like his new nickname as he slowly replies, “Yes?”

“Truth... or dare?”

There's a few more seconds of hesitation as 47 tries to piece together Olivia's intentions before giving up, deciding that he's damned either way. “Truth.”

“I bet you're into some kinky shit. Would you let Diana tie you up?”

47 stiffens instantly as Lucas bursts into peals of laughter while Diana feels every drop of blood in her body grow cold, then hot. She keeps her eyes trained on the minute twitch of 47's lips as he gives Olivia a hard look. “For what purpose?”

Olivia gives a wicked little grin as she leans sideways and bumps shoulders with Diana. “Let's just say you've been a very bad boy, and you need to be taught a lesson. Would you let Diana tie you up and, I dunno, whip you with your own belt?!” She points at 47's crotch for emphasis as Diana covers her reddened face.

“Holy shit, Olivia!” Lucas doesn't cuss often, but when he does, it's the most satisfying thing to hear. There's a noticeable tinge of red on 47's cheeks as he turns away, growling, “N-no, of course not.” He brushes off the elbow that Lucas is digging into his side as Diana uncovers her face and realizes it's her turn to dare someone.

Diana swallows a bit, trying to cool the stinging in her cheeks as she turns her gaze onto the older clone. “Lucas.” Lucas, still shirtless, raises a brow back at Diana. 47's still refusing to look at any of them as he sits stiffly beside Lucas.

“Truth or dare?” She asks Lucas, and Lucas smirks a bit. “Let's go with dare.”

Diana smirks back at him, glad that was his answer, glad that she's about to get back at him for all the teasing he's done that night. “Alright. I dare you to take that vodka bottle from the table, and... drink it.” Lucas tilts his head a bit, disbelieving at the handler. “That can't be the entire dare.”

“That is correct,” Diana says simply, “put the vodka in your mouth but don't swallow.”

This time both of Lucas' brows are raised. “Oookay,” he starts slowly , reaching for the half-empty bottle and tilting it up to take a swig, before looking at Diana expectantly with a mouthful of vodka. “Now,” Diana says while trying to keep the laughter out of her voice, “transfer all the vodka in the bottle to 47's mouth, using your mouth. And don't spill any of it.”

The way Lucas spits up the vodka has Olivia doubled over screaming with laughter next to Diana, as 47 tries to stand up and leave once more, a look of horror plastered on his face. But Lucas is grabbing at his arm and pulling him back to a chorus of “Do it, do it, do it,” from the girls seated across.

47 looks like he most definitely does not want to do it. Lucas doesn't look that much better off as he grabs 47's face and tries to go in for a 'transfer' but 47's smacking his hand against Lucas' mouth, and it looks like the most aggressive romance scene to ever play out as Lucas pulls his leg up like he's about to knee 47 in the crotch. On instinct, 47 pulls his hand down to cover himself and Lucas goes in for the kill. They both end up falling onto the coffee table, knocking random shit off onto the floor as Lucas pins 47 underneath him, the younger clone going completely stiff once his mouth gets covered by Lucas'. Diana and Olivia gasp and lean down to get a better look.

...Well, it looks like most of it transferred. Most, but not all. Lucas pulls up sputtering, stumbling off the other clone as he coughs out, “That's all I can do. Sorry, Diana... and 47. I lost.” His face is a deep red as he wipes his mouth, and 47's still lying on the table like he's paralyzed, and Diana can't help but feel a bit guilty at the look on his face, like he's still not sure what happened and doesn't want to process it.

It seems like Lucas has learned his lesson, as he and 47 sit a good distance apart on the couch while the rest of the game plays on; Diana finally loses it at Lucas daring Olivia to act like a squirrel caught in a hurricane as she ends up knocking at least two chairs over; she’s a giggling mess on the floor as Lucas hoists her over his shoulder and decides to carry her to bed, leaving Diana and 47 momentarily alone in the living room.

Diana stands up and starts swaying on her feet, realizing that yes, she was sort of drunk and no, she doesn’t really care. She feels hands grabbing at her to hold her steady as she smiles a bit at her old friend, who looks back at her with an indecipherable expression.

“Not how you were expecting this night to go hmm?” She tilts her head at 47 as she says this, and the agent just shakes his head a bit, squeezing her shoulders. “I think it’s time we all turn in for the night,” he finally replies as he releases the handler.

“Indeed,” Diana replies, “let’s end this and try to save whatever dignity we still have.” 47’s mouth twitches a bit, an almost-smile as he’s turning to walk down the hallway where Olivia can be heard loudly protesting, “Christ’s sake, Lucas! I’m not a kid anymore, I can tuck myself in!”

Diana watches his back retreat, and then suddenly says, “You know, your drawings are rather cute. And unique.” This makes 47 pause in the hallway, turning slowly to give Diana a disbelieving look. Diana feels her face heat up, resisting the urge to cross her arms. Perhaps ‘cute’ wasn’t the word she should have used, but it’s too late to take it back now.

“What?” She finally asks, not knowing what else to say.

47 just stands there another heartbeat, looking keenly at her before he turns away, a strange look in his eyes. “Nothing,” He finally replies, continuing his trek down the hallway. “Good night, Diana.”

“Good night, 47.” She watches him close the door to his bedroom with a quiet click before she turns her gaze back to the living room, an absolute mess from their shenanigans.

This is going to be fun to clean up in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm really sorry to Fullmetal_Optimist, and to everyone else reading it. It's okay if you don't want to be my friend anymore. But it's not okay to ignore this Discord invite: https://discord.gg/ZuFXAM6

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I want to open a challenge, since I doubt this fandom's lively enough to warrant it lol. Let me know what you'd like to read, as I said before, I'm up for pretty much anything. Otherwise, I'll keep posting one shots involving Hitman since I have a bit of an unhealthy obsession.


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